


a little drop for me

by littlemissmeggie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Harry, Eventual Smut, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Human!Niall, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mermaid!Harry, Rimming, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sex Toys, Top!Harry, Top!Niall, Ziall Break-Up, alcohol use, bottom!Niall, innocent!harry, like really light, mostly Top!Harry, sad!Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 82,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissmeggie/pseuds/littlemissmeggie
Summary: Niall was amazed how much had changed in a year, how itdidn’thurt anymore. He’d been drowning in heartache and pain for months and suffocated by the weight of his sorrow.And then he’d met Harry and been scared and heartbroken again, worried to love and hesitant tobeloved. But Harry hadn’t left. He’d showed Niall what unconditional love—romanticunconditional love—felt like, whether out of naive innocence or stubborn determination, Niall wasn’t sure.or...If anyone asked Niall how he thought he would meet the love of his life, he wouldn’t have said that he expected to find him lying naked on the beach when he went for a walk at sunrise while on holiday.





	1. modern art

**Author's Note:**

> (Is it pretentious to write a dedication on a fanfiction?)
> 
> This story is dedicated to the three girls who helped bring it to life, though they'll probably never read it, and the one girl who helped revive it after I'd nearly left it for dead and was there every step of the way.
> 
> Special thanks to [sleepymouses](http://sleepymouses.tumblr.com) for her beautiful art. It's absolutely lovely and is so so fitting to the story!
> 
> Thank you to my group chat and other friends who have been supportive and encouraging over the last few months. And to my boyfriend, who will never read this either, for his overwhelming support and understanding, even despite the fact that he knew I was writing a One Direction slash fanfiction with self-indulgent smut.
> 
> xo

i know i love you and you love the sea  
but what holy water contains a little drop for me?

* * *

  **Book 1**

* * *

 

Niall looked at the white stone front of the Tate Britain before turning off of Atterbury Street and walking across the large stone courtyard in front of the Chelsea College of Arts. Niall had never been to this campus before; all of his regular classes were held at the University of the Arts London’s College of Communication campus in Elephant & Castle.

Niall had signed up for this class—Sound Design for Installation, a one-day elective course—months earlier. It ran only twice a year, once at the end of the autumn term and once at the end of the summer term, and filled up quickly.

He entered the large sandstone building and began to look for the room listed on his registration form. He finally found the Audio Visual editing studio and walked into the room, choosing a seat at one of the digital workstations. He took a notebook and pen from his bag and put the items on the workstation, leaning down to place his bag on the floor under the desk and sitting up just as a boy who looked like a sculpture, or maybe a Versace model, walked into the room.

Niall tried not to stare, he really did, but the boy was so _beautiful_. He had smooth olive skin and short, dark hair. He was slim, almost dainty, but he wore skinny jeans and combat boots and a tee that showed off several tattoos on his arms and collarbones and even on his hand.

Niall watched Beautiful Boy make his way over to a workstation near his own, studying his sharp cheekbones and jawline and the impossibly long eyelashes that shaded his amber eyes.

The boy was a piece of art and Niall needed to learn his name.

He was distracted from his thoughts—really, the boy’s lips were unfairly kissable and he didn’t think anyone could blame him for his fantasies—when the professor walked into the room. He introduced himself as Mike Wyeld and explained how the course would be broken down before checking that everyone had a workstation.

The first portion of the class was spent in lecture—a discussion of the process of sound creation and the language of sound, and how the technical aspects of recording and editing sound works and the art of the sound itself intersected to create a full-bodied and four-cornered piece—and Niall was so interested in the topics being discussed that he _almost_ forgot about Beautiful Boy sitting two seats away from him.

They were dismissed from their lecture a few hours later and given a short lunch break—Niall sat in the sunny courtyard, eating his chicken salad sandwich and listening to Beautiful Boy talk on his phone, voice laced with a heavy Yorkshire accent—before returning to the Audio Visual editing studio and moving into the practical portion of the course.

Professor Wyeld gave a brief demonstration, explaining the basics of the program and detailing the requirements for the mini-project.

When they began using their digital audio workstations to edit the sounds they’d recorded, Niall noticed that Beautiful Boy seemed to be struggling with the editing software. The tutor had disappeared, mentioning something about coffee before he’d left the room.

So Niall did as any good Sound Arts major would do and abandoned his own work to assist the lad.

“Hi,” said Niall as he approached the boy. “I’m Niall.”

Beautiful Boy looked up at Niall and the blonde swooned before composing himself. “I’m Zayn.”

“Um, I thought maybe you could use some help,” stuttered Niall. “With your, um, with your sound work.” He gestured toward the iMac in front of him.

Beautiful Boy— _Zayn_ —looked relieved. “Can you help, then?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m a- I’m majoring in Sound Arts,” said Niall.

“ _Please_ help me,” said Zayn, sounding a little desperate. “I don’t know  _anything_ about sound editing. One of my flatmates had to show me how to use the sound recording app I downloaded!”

Niall smiled and tried not to laugh. “It’s not that hard once you know the program’s basic tools,” he said.

Niall wheeled his own desk chair over next to Zayn’s workstation and showed him how to adjust the volume, how to reduce the background noise, change the pitches, and enhance the foreground audio. “You can play around with those levels until you’ve got it sounding like you want. And those”—Niall pointed to the other editing tools on the computer screen—“are fun to mess around with too. If you don’t like what they do, you can always bring them back down to neutral.” Zayn looked at Niall, a hint of confusion on his face. “Zero,” added Niall.       

“Thanks, Niall,” said Zayn, smiling at the blonde. “What about your sound work?”

Niall shrugged. “We’re not being graded and I already know how to do _this_.” He gestured at the computer. “I registered for this class for the lecture bits, really.”

Zayn nodded. “I think I’ve got the hang of this. Kind of.” He smiled a crooked smile and Niall swooned, smiling back. “You should go work on your piece until Wyeld gets back and decides to finish up with his closing lecture.”

Niall stood up and grabbed the back of his chair. “It was a pleasure,” he said before rolling his chair back to his own workstation.

*******

“Zayn!” called Niall. Zayn stopped and turned around. “Oi! Zayn,” said Niall again, walking quickly toward the dark-haired boy.

“Niall,” said Zayn, giving Niall that same crooked smile.

“Coffee,” said Niall.

“I’m sorry?”

“Coffee,” repeated Niall. “It’s four o’clock. A bit late for lunch and a bit early for dinner, really.”

“Y-yes,” agreed Zayn.

Niall noticed Zayn’s confusion and rushed to explain himself. “I meant, uh. Maybe, I mean, maybe we could go for coffee?”

Zayn laughed softly. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That’d be nice.”

“I don’t know anywhere near here, though,” admitted Niall. “Don’t come to Pimlico much.”

“Come on, then,” said Zayn, tilting his head toward the road behind him. “There’s a sandwich shop just round the corner.”

“Do you go to CCA?” asked Niall as he followed Zayn across the courtyard and out onto John Islip Street.

“No,” said Zayn. “I’m at Central Saint Martins. But I come to the Tate all the time.”

Barely two minutes later, they arrived at Relish. “The food’s all right,” Zayn said in a hushed voice as they walked in, “but it’s cheaper than eating at the Tate.”

Niall nodded and followed Zayn to the line at the deli counter. They both ordered coffee and found seats at one of the small tables in the sandwich shop.

“So Niall…” began Zayn. “Niall what?” he asked, realising they’d never properly introduced themselves.

“Horan,” said Niall.

“Very Irish,” said Zayn, smirking at the boy.

Niall nodded his agreement and said, “And you’re Zayn…?”

“Malik,” finished Zayn. “So Niall Horan, what are you doing spending a beautiful Saturday taking Sound Design for Installation?”

Niall took a sip of his coffee. “I want to work in music production after I graduate. You know, working as a sound engineer in a recording studio, helping with the sound production. Maybe working in post-production a bit, editing the record. But I want to try other stuff out too. It’d be good to know, I reckon. In case things don’t work out. And who knows,” he added, shrugging. “Maybe I’ll like something else better. Doubtful, but possible.”

Zayn chuckled.

“So Mr. Malik, why did _you_ take Sound Design for Installation?” asked Niall after a few more sips of coffee.

“I’m studying Culture, Criticism, and Curation,” Zayn told Niall. “I’d like to be an art curator at a museum and most modern art museums host sound installations. Thought it might be good to know about the production and that,” explained Zayn.

“Yeah, probably a good idea since you couldn’t even use the sound recording app on your phone,” Niall said, a grin on his face that showed he was teasing.

“Oi!” said Zayn and Niall giggled.

A few moments passed and Niall asked, “You into modern art then?”

“It’s my area of focus. I like all art, really,” said Zayn, “but the pervasiveness of pop culture and the use of modern technologies to create layered multi-media pieces is fascinating to me.”

“Spoken like a true Art Criticism major,” said Niall, looking mildly impressed at Zayn’s simple criticism.

Zayn and Niall sat at the little table until the manager came to ask them politely if they’d finished their coffee and tell them she was closing up for the day.

As they stepped outside the shop, Niall turned to Zayn. “This was fun,” he said. “We should do it again sometime maybe?” He hoped he didn’t sound too hopeful or desperate.

“Yes, Niall Horan,” said Zayn, “we _should_ do this again.” He looked at Niall from under his eyelashes and added coyly, a playful smirk on his face, “Maybe we should even exchange phone numbers.”

*******

A few days later, Niall got a text message from Zayn. He’d avoided sending the first text because he didn’t want to scare the boy off, didn’t want to seem _too_ desperate, so he was overjoyed when he received Zayn’s message.

It was a simple text, asking Niall if he’d like to go out for dinner the next evening. Niall responded with a yes, adding that it would be nice, and Zayn recommended a restaurant called Caravan near his campus in King’s Cross, setting a time after his Thursday evening tutor session.

*******

On Thursday, Niall had an early morning class and got back to his flat just after noon. He’d managed to suppress his growing nerves all day but, after a cup of tea and an early lunch and some quick chores around the flat, Niall’s anxiety got the better of him.

He picked up his phone and called his best friend, waiting for Liam to answer.

“Liam! Li, I’ve got a date tonight,” said Niall quickly, before Liam could even say hello. “At least, I think it’s a date,” he added a bit uncertainly. “We’re going out for dinner.”

“Mmm,” hummed Liam, “sounds like a date to me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Niall quietly. “I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Niall, just wear whatever you’d wear if _we_ were going out for dinner,” suggested Liam rationally.

“But _Liam_ , the kid looks like a bloody Louis Vuitton model!” he said, sounding a little exasperated, irritated by Liam’s lack of understanding regarding the problem.

“I thought it was Versace?” teased Liam.

“Does it matter? He looks like a model and I… don’t,” he finished lamely.

“Niall, relax. It’ll be fine. Just wear what you’d normally wear.” There was a pause and then Liam said, “I’ve never told you this before but you’re actually quite handsome.”

“Li-am,” groaned Niall, embarrassed.

“I’m serious, Nialler. Now just relax and have a good time.”

Niall tried to follow Liam’s advice, pulling out his guitar and playing for a while before listening to a few records.

When it was time to get ready for his maybe-a-date dinner, Niall settled on a simple outfit; Liam had reminded him in a text that Zayn was coming from a tutor session and would most likely be wearing a normal outfit. Niall knew he was right, so he chose slim-fitting khakis, legs cuffed up a few times; a light blue, collarless button-down shirt; simple white tennis sneakers; and a pair of his totally unnecessary horn-rimmed glasses. He decided to wear blue after a text from Liam telling him that blue flattered him well.

Niall arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, nervously checking his phone nearly every minute until Zayn showed up a few minutes later, wearing an outfit much like the one he’d been wearing the first time they met, proving Liam correct. _Doesn’t stop him from looking like a model though_ , thought Niall.

“You’ve not been waiting long, have you?” asked Zayn.

“No,” said Niall, shaking his head. “Just a few minutes.”

“Good,” said Zayn. “Nice glasses,” he added, pointing at Niall’s face.

“Thanks. They’re fake,” said Niall, immediately wishing he could take back the second bit.

“They suit you,” said Zayn with a smile.

They were seated and Niall asked, “Good tutor session tonight?”

“Yeah, productive and that,” said Zayn, nodding.

“That’s good,” said Niall. “What’re you working on?”

“Ugh,” said Zayn, sitting back in his chair. “We’re meant to be finishing our Strength and Approach explorations.”

“I’m sorry,” said Niall, feeling a bit silly, “but I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve got stages, not… whatever your terms are split into,” offered Zayn, as if that provided any explanation at all.

“Units, you mean?” asked Niall. Zayn nodded and took a sip of his water. “What are stages?”

“Our courses are a bit less structured than a lot of other majors,” said Zayn. “We’ve got lectures and that, but then we have tutor sessions. So we take, like, what we’ve learnt in lectures and apply it to our individual approach. Like, what we want to do after we finish school, I guess.”

“So your focus is modern art,” said Niall.

“Right,” said Zayn. “I’ve been researching modern art, specifically Surrealism. Like, the art style but also the cultural movement. We’re meant to be using our research to, like, explore how we’d approach curating an exhibit or critiquing and writing about art or cultural movements and that.”

“We’ve got that too, a bit. I mean, we’ve got lectures but then we go into the recording and editing and A/V studios to put what we’ve learnt in theory into action,” said Niall, hoping he was understanding what Zayn was saying and didn’t sound like an idiot.

“Exactly,” agreed Zayn, sounding pleased.

“Have you always liked art, then?” asked Niall.

“Yeah. Like, I took art lessons in school. And I worked at a contemporary art gallery in sixth form. Bradford 1 Gallery,” Zayn told Niall.

“That’s cool,” said Niall.

A waitress came to take their orders and then Zayn asked, “What about you, Niall Horan? Have you always wanted to be a sound engineer? Always wanted to make records and that?”

Niall laughed. “Nah. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a footballer or maybe a pro golfer.”

“How’d you get into sound arts then?”

“Me older brother Greg got a guitar for Christmas one year but he never used it. So I, uh, I stole it off him and taught m’self how to play,” said Niall, shrugging a shoulder.

“You taught yourself how to play?” asked Zayn.

“Yeah. Off YouTube videos. It’s not that hard,” Niall said modestly. “I play the piano and violin too. And drums a bit as well.”

“Wow,” said Zayn, clearly impressed.

The pair spent a while longer together, eating their meals but enjoying the conversation far more.

They found that they’d both moved to London—Niall from Mullingar and Zayn from Bradford—the previous August, just in time for the start of the autumn term at University of the Arts London. Niall had found his own small studio flat and a part-time job as a piano and guitar instructor at a nearby music school. Zayn had moved into a flat with two other lads and got a job as a tour guide at the Tate Modern.

They finally separated at about 9:30. Niall apologized, telling Zayn that he should get home because he had a guitar lesson at the music school the next morning, a noon lecture, and then another guitar lesson followed by a piano lesson.

Zayn smiled. “We’ll do this again soon, Niall Horan.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall happily. “Definitely.”


	2. tetley

Niall rushed across the street from the music school to Black Treacle, the little cafe he loved for their delicious housemade pastries and eclectic atmosphere and the way they made a proper cup of tea—in a teapot with loose tea, not a teabag like Starbucks. He was meeting Zayn for their third not-a-date—they couldn’t be dates, Niall reasoned, because they’d never _labelled_ them as dates—and felt it was only polite to get there first because it was Zayn’s first time to Black Treacle and he’d invited the boy there.

He walked into the cafe and found that he had indeed arrived first; he’d been a bit nervous because his guitar student’s mother had been a few minutes late picking him up. He found a table and draped his hoodie over the back of one of the chairs and sat down. It was an odd time—3:27, a bit late for lunch and a bit early for the rush hour crowd clamouring for coffees—so he didn’t really think there would be a rush on tables just now but he didn’t want to risk it.

Zayn walked in a few minutes later, looking perfect as usual, and took the seat opposite Niall. “Hey, Niall,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor beside his chair. “Cute place. Do you come here a lot?”

“Yeah,” said Niall. “The music studio’s just across the street and I only live a few blocks away, actually. I come here almost every day.”

“Yeah?” asked Zayn, standing from the table and following Niall to the counter to place their orders. “Just convenient or is it really that good?”

Niall turned to Zayn looking almost offended by Zayn’s question. “Best cafe in all of London, I reckon. Make all their own pastries and breads from scratch and serve all of their tea in a proper teapot.”

“What if you order it to go?” asked Zayn, turning from the pastry case to look at Niall.

“Got these little paper pouches they put the loose tea in,” said Niall. “Still not a _proper_ cuppa but it’s better than Tetley or Tips.”

“You take your tea very seriously, then,” said Zayn, a little smirk on his lips.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, cringing inwardly. “Sorry. Bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Nah.” Zayn shook his head and looked back at the pastries. “Charming.”

They returned to their table a few minutes later and the waitress came by with their order, arranging Niall’s tea setting—teacup and saucer, teaspoon, a small creamer of milk, and a sugar bowl—and giving Zayn his coffee and oatmeal cookie.

“You weren’t kidding, mate,” said Zayn, looking at Niall’s tea setting and smiling. “They do a proper tea. Quaint.”

Niall blushed, not sure if Zayn found it a bit _too_ twee or if it was still the right side of charming. “Me gran used to set tea every day,” he explained. “Always fun to go there for teatime. Her favourite part of the day, I reckon.”

Zayn smiled. “You’re close with your family, then?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t see them often,” he said. “They’re all back in Ireland, obviously. I’ll see them when I go home for a visit in August though.”

“You’ve got a brother, right?” asked Zayn. “Stole his guitar, if I remember.”

Niall nodded. “Greg, yeah. He’s a bit older than me. Twenty-five.”

“And your parents?”

“Ah, Maura and Bobby,” said Niall. “They got divorced when I was five but I still see them both. Me dad a bit more, I suppose. He’s a butcher at Tesco.” He laughed. “Worked there forever, I think.” He took a sip of his tea and asked, “What about you? You see your family a lot?”

“Probably more than you. Just, like, a three hour train ride to Bradford,” Zayn told Niall.

“Have you got any siblings?” asked Niall. “Nick anything off an older brother?”

Zayn smiled. “Nah, haven’t got an older brother. Three sisters. My older sister Doniya and two younger sisters. Waliyha and Safaa.”

“Beautiful names,” said Niall.

“My dad’s British Pakistani,” explained Zayn, “so we’ve all got Arabic names.”

“What’s Zayn mean, then?” asked Niall.

“Like, ‘beauty’ and ‘grace,’” said Zayn.

“How fitting,” said Niall quietly. “What about your mum?”

“She’s part Irish, actually. But she converted to Islam when she and my dad got married.”

“That’s really sweet,” said Niall. “Like, to learn a whole new religion because you love someone so much.”

“Yeah,” agreed Zayn, considering Niall’s words. “Never really- I never really thought of it like that before.”

The conversation soon turned from their families to their friends.

Niall told Zayn about his friends Liam and Louis, Liam’s mischievous but kind-hearted flatmate, talking about their weekend routines—Friday nights were usually spent hanging out at Liam and Louis’ flat in Neasden; Saturday nights found the three lads at one pub or another, though they had two favourites they frequented most; and Sunday afternoons were usually spent at Niall’s flat in Kilburn, sometimes after a late breakfast at Black Treacle, and usually involved cold pizza and FIFA.

Niall was surprised to learn that Zayn didn’t have any proper friends. He had coworkers at the museum and his flatmates, with whom he got along, but he didn’t have any _proper_ friends to go out with on a Saturday night or to send stupid messages and pictures at 2:41 a.m. when he lay in bed and couldn’t sleep.   

Niall couldn’t really understand it because Zayn was such an intelligent, kind, talented person; he had a mellow, gentle disposition and was easy to talk to and fun to be around. Niall enjoyed spending time with Zayn.

*******

One day in late June, Niall invited Zayn to his flat for a movie night. The summer term had ended a few days before and both lads were looking forward to a relaxing night, neither having work the next day.

Although Niall and Zayn had seen each other quite a lot since they’d met a month and a half earlier—nineteen times, not that Niall had been counting—Zayn had never been to Niall’s flat. He knew it was a bit silly because it seemed that Zayn liked him well enough by this point but Niall was a little nervous to have the lad see his flat.

When he got home from the music studio, he decided to tidy up. His flat never got too messy but Niall wanted to make a good impression; Niall didn’t know if Zayn’s room in the flat he shared was messy or not, though he imagined it was neat in an organised chaos kind of way.

Niall texted Zayn at around six o’clock to ask him if he had a preference for takeaway; Zayn replied, saying anything was fine with him, so Niall called his favourite Chinese restaurant to order lo mein and fried rice and dumplings for delivery.

Zayn arrived just after the food, looking around Niall’s small flat when Niall greeted him at the door.

“Wow, Niall,” he said, taking in the small but nicely laid-out apartment. “This is an awesome space. _Wicked_ windows,” he added, walking across the open flat to the windows that spanned the entire wall opposite the door and looked out over the section of neighbourhood below.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall because he really did love his flat. “It’s great on sunny days. The sun comes right in.”

They went to the kitchen, where Niall had the cartons of food set out, and filled their plates before heading toward the living room area.

“Right,” said Niall as they settled onto the sofa. “Drama or comedy?”

“Comedy,” said Zayn, shoveling a forkful of fried rice into his mouth.

“Comedy it is.” Niall turned on the television and scrolled through Netflix. “Ya ever seen _Death to Smoochy_?” asked Niall, turning to look at Zayn.

“No,” answered Zayn. “Is it good?”

“It’s terrible but, like, brilliant at the same time. If that makes sense,” said Niall. “Fucking hilarious though.”

“Go on, then,” said Zayn. “Let’s see it.”

Niall found _Death to Smoochy_ and started the movie, the two lads laughing together as the movie played.

“Could Robin Williams have been any more fucked up than he was in that movie?” said Zayn when the movie ended, chuckling. “I’m scarred now, thanks!”  

“You’ve obviously never seen his stand-up then,” said Niall.

“No,” Zayn admitted. “Is it like that?”

Niall laughed brightly. “Even worse.”

“Oh my God.”

The boys laughed for a few moments.

“So what’ve you got planned for the break?” asked Zayn once they’d settled down.

“I’m taking on a few more students at the studio,” said Niall. “Two more for guitar lessons and a piano student who wants to be there three days a week.”

“Wow,” said Zayn. “Three days a week?”

“Yeah,” said Niall, nodding. “Two days is good but three’s kind of excessive. It’s good money though so…” He shrugged. “Going back to Ireland for a couple weeks the beginning of August. Flying out of Heathrow on the third and coming back on the eighteenth. What about you?”

“I’m picking up a few more shifts at the museum,” Zayn told Niall. “I can do three tours on Wednesdays and Thursdays now. No tutor sessions and that. Obviously still Saturday mornings and Monday afternoons.”

“Nice,” said Niall. “You going back to Bradford at all?”

“Haven’t planned when yet but, yeah,” Zayn said. “Probably early August. Maybe I’ll go the same weeks you’re gone. Take the train up from King’s Cross.”


	3. relativity

Niall landed in Dublin and, as soon as the captain allowed it, switched airplane mode off; his phone was immediately flooded with texts and missed calls and one voicemail. He noticed the voicemail and a few texts were from his father, checking to make sure he’d got on his flight without any issues. Two texts were from Liam and Louis, wishing him a safe flight and a good trip home.

The other messages were from Zayn. There were several pictures that seemed to have been taken through the windows of the train, fields with grazing sheep and castle ruins. Others were pictures of Zayn’s childhood bedroom, a poster of M.C. Escher’s _Relativity_ hung above the headboard and a Superman duvet on the bed. There were pictures of Zayn’s sisters, each captioned so Niall could finally put faces to their names. There was a picture of Zayn’s parents, sitting around the kitchen table and smiling pleasantly at the camera.

And then there was a selfie of Zayn, eyes soft and sparkling as he smiled happily, with a message reading, “Hi Niall! Hope you’ve landed safely!”

Niall felt himself smile, a big grin breaking over his face. Because Zayn was so remarkably _beautiful_ and happy and his smile was so wide and Niall found himself wishing that Zayn’s smile in the picture was for _him_ , though it was no doubt for his family.

Niall sent a message to Zayn. “You look happy! Glad to be home?”

People around him began to shuffle around, pulling bags from the overhead compartments and throwing purses and backpacks over their shoulders. Niall stood and found his duffel bag in the overhead bin, placing it on his empty seat while he grabbed his own backpack from where he’d placed it under his seat. Once he had his bags in order, he moved into the line of fellow passengers waiting to depart the plane, following them down the narrow aisle and out into the terminal.

He pulled out his phone to call Bobby, who was meeting him to bring him back to Mullingar, and found a text from Zayn. “Yes! So nice to be home!” And then a second text, “Really excited to show you my family!”

Niall felt his breath hitch and his heart melt a little. Zayn was excited to show him his family. That was so cute.

That was so _boyfriend-y_.

_Oh my God._

Niall stopped and, holding his phone up, opened the camera and took a few pictures of himself. Choosing the best one, he sent it to Zayn, a message attached reading, “Fáilte go Bhaile Átha Cliath! That means, ‘Welcome to Dublin!’”

About ten minutes later, Niall found Bobby at the Arrivals point and greeted him with a hug. Bobby reached to grab Niall’s duffel bag but Niall stopped him.

“Wait, Da. Let me take a picture of you!”

“A picture of _me_?” asked Bobby, surprised.

“I’ll get in with ya! It’s for me friend Zayn,” said Niall, standing next to his father, missing the knowing smirk on Bobby’s face as he dropped his bag and opened the camera on his phone.

He took a few shots and sent one to Zayn, the message reading, “Bobby Horan! Absolute legend!”

*******

The next two weeks were filled with numerous texts, pictures and videos of anything and everything they wanted to share with each other—their homes and families and friends, a picture of Bobby behind the butcher’s counter at the local Tesco, a picture of Tricia and Safaa drinking tea in the kitchen one morning, a video of Niall’s mum Maura and his grandmother setting tea. They told silly stories and shared anecdotes about their days.

On the night before they were both set to return to London, Niall and Zayn made plans to hang out. Niall found that he was very excited to see Zayn, was eager to return to London and spend time with the lad.

And Niall realised that he’d only sent a dozen or so messages to Liam and Louis the whole time he’d been away but hadn’t gone more than a few hours without sending something to or receiving something from Zayn.

He knew exactly what all of that meant.

*******

Niall got back to his flat from the airport just before noon. He unpacked his bags, throwing all of his dirty clothes in the hamper and carrying it to the kitchen to run a load of laundry.

While the machine ran, Niall tidied up his flat. Zayn was coming over later that evening to hang out and, though he’d been to Niall’s flat before, something felt _different_.

Once the flat was neatened up and his laundry was folded and put away, Niall made a quick trip to Sainsbury’s to do a bit of grocery shopping. He briefly considered making a curry for dinner but thought better of it, deciding it might be a good idea to do a few trial runs before making a curry for a boy who claimed his mother made the best curry in England. He decided instead to make spaghetti and meatballs, making sure to buy Halal beef.

He returned home, setting straight to work in his small kitchen. He made the tomato sauce and then started on the meatballs, mixing the ground meat with eggs and salt and pepper and breadcrumbs and a few spices that Jamie Oliver suggested. He browned them in a hot pan with a little vegetable oil, just as Jamie instructed, and transferred them to the pot of chunky tomato sauce. He decided to wait to cook the pasta until after Zayn arrived, setting a pot of water to boil on the stove while he cleaned up the counters and washed the few dishes he’d used while doing his prep work.

Niall changed into a pair of clean jeans and a navy blue tee and returned to the kitchen, setting the small dining table and pulling plates and glasses from the cabinets.

At about six o’clock, there was a knock at the door and Niall went to open it, finding a smiling Zayn on the other side.

“Hey, mate!” said Niall, stepping aside to let the boy in. “Come in!”

Zayn walked past the blonde and into the flat. “It smells amazing in here!” he commented.

“Thanks,” said Niall. “Spaghetti and meatballs. I, uh, I hope that’s all right?”

“You cooked for me?” asked Zayn, sounding a little surprised. “That’s... so sweet.”

Niall ducked his head, embarrassed by Zayn’s small praise. “Well, I have to eat too, don’t I?” said Niall, blushing slightly and trying to play it off like he _didn’t_ spend fifteen minutes in Sainsbury’s trying to decide exactly what to cook for Zayn.

“I suppose so,” said Zayn.

“I’ve just got to cook the spaghetti. Didn’t want it to get mush before you got here,” Niall told him.

Zayn followed Niall to the small kitchen area, sitting in one of the chairs at the dining table. “You even set the table?” he asked, sounding so _endeared_.

Niall focused on pouring salt into the pot of boiling water before dumping the box of spaghetti in. “Uh, yeah. O’- o’ course,” he stuttered nervously as he set a timer and grabbed a colander hanging from a rack above the stove.

“Niall,” said Zayn seriously, “this is honestly so sweet. Nobody’s- no one’s ever cooked me dinner before. Except my mum, but that doesn’t count.”

Niall avoided any kind of response, unsure what to say, and made himself busy at the counter, not wanting to look at Zayn because he could _feel_ how hot and red his face was. He set two plates on the counter and found a serving spoon for the sauce and meatballs.

“I missed you,” said Zayn quietly, shyly, from where he still sat behind Niall.

Niall turned around and looked at Zayn, startled by the softness and sincerity in Zayn’s amber eyes. “I, yeah, I missed you too,” he finally said.

“I kept thinking, the whole time I was home that, um,” said Zayn nervously, “that maybe… um, I’d like you to be my boyfriend.”

“R-really?” asked Niall, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” said Zayn, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. I really like you, Niall. You’re kind and smart and just so _positive_ and _happy_. I like that you’re so outgoing because I’m not really and I… I guess I admire it. Plus you’re really beautiful and that.”

Niall stood, mouth gaping at Zayn. “Wow. Do you… _I’m_ beautiful? You’re like a model or something!” said Niall in a jumble of words.

The timer went off and Niall turned back to the stove, switching off both the timer and the burner. “Do you,” he started, “do you really think all of that?” He dumped the pasta into the colander and split it between the two plates, spooning sauce and meatballs on top of each.

Zayn nodded. “Yeah. And I’d really like you to be my boyfriend.”

Niall picked up both dishes and carried them to the table, setting one down in front of Zayn and moving to his own seat. “I’d really like that too,” he said, blushing and smiling at Zayn from across the table.

Zayn smiled back.

*******

A few days later, Liam texted Niall as he was walking to the music studio to ask if he wanted to hang out that evening. Niall said yes and asked if it would be all right if he brought Zayn along.

“Yeah! Lou and I are eager to meet lover boy,” responded Liam.

Niall rolled his eyes and called Zayn. The boy answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Niall.”

“Hey, Zayn!” said Niall happily. “You up for meeting Liam and Louis tonight?”

“Um—”

“You didn’t have plans already, did ya?” asked Niall, thinking he’d maybe forgot something Zayn had mentioned.

“No, nothing. Um, yes. I’d like to meet them. Your best mates and that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall softly, hoping just his tone would reassure Zayn that his mates would be kind and welcoming.

“Yeah, I’ll come by yours after your guitar lesson?” asked Zayn.

“Should be back around half five. I’ll see you then, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Niall hung up the phone and walked into the studio. He had two piano lessons and a guitar lesson, a small break between the second piano and guitar students allowing him enough time to run to Black Treacle for a coffee and maybe a cookie.

The lessons went well enough, though he found himself gently chiding his second piano student because she’d _obviously_ not practiced since their last lesson the week before. He was thankful for his run to Black Treacle and his gooey chocolate chip cookie, despite his minor coffee spill down the front of his white tee.

When his guitar lesson ended, he packed his guitar away and tucked all of the sheet music he’d used for the lessons into his attaché case before locking up the studio and heading home.

Niall got back to his flat just a few minutes before Zayn arrived. The boy walked in looking like he’d stepped out of the pages of an issue of _GQ_ and Niall briefly thought that he’d probably never get used to that.

“I’m just going to change before we head out,” said Niall, pointing to the giant coffee stain on his tee. He walked toward the curtains that separated his bedroom area from the rest of the studio flat. He pulled them half closed and undressed, switching out his dirty shirt with a clean one.  

Zayn sat in the armchair near the curtains while he waited. “You met Liam first term, yeah?” he asked. Niall agreed and Zayn continued. “He’s studying Sound Arts and Design too.”

“Yes,” said Niall.

“And Louis’ studying Sports Journalism at LCC.”

“Yes,” said Niall again as he opened the curtain, finding a pair of his fake glasses on the dresser and grabbing a jacket off the back of the armchair.

“But Louis’ a year ahead of us, yeah?” asked Zayn.

“Zayn,” said Niall kindly, “there’s not going to be a test, you know.”

Zayn looked a little abashed. “I know. I just… I’m not great at meeting new people.”

“You did fine with me, yeah?”

Zayn grinned and looked at Niall, nodding.

“Let’s go then!” said Niall, prodding Zayn until he stood up from his seat. “Louis's ordering pizza and if he gets it before we’re there, we won’t be eating.”

They left the flat and Zayn continued to parrot facts about Liam and Louis back to Niall as they made their way to the other lads’ flat in Neasden.

“Louis was looking for a new flatmate before, um, autumn term last year and Liam answered the advert.”

Niall nodded and took Zayn’s hand as they got off the tube and started walking out of the station. He gave Zayn’s fingers a gentle squeeze and said, “Yeah. They didn’t get on too well at first, to be honest. Funny now. They’re damn near inseparable. A bit like ‘The Odd Couple’ or something.”

They arrived at Liam and Louis’ flat and were let in by an enthusiastic Louis.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Louis by way of a greeting. “You _do_ look like a Louis Vuitton model!”

Niall’s eyes widened in embarrassment as Zayn turned to look at him, a small smirk on his face.

“It’s Versace, not Louis Vuitton,” said Liam as he walked toward the open door. “Get it right, Lou. And let them in, why don’t you.”

Louis stepped aside and let Niall and Zayn enter the flat. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Zayn,” said Liam politely, offering his hand to the dark-haired lad. “I’m Liam. And that’s Lou. Don’t mind him. He’s a bit much sometimes.”

“ _Excuse me_ , Liam?” said Louis from behind Zayn and Niall. “A bit much, am I?”

“Yeah, a bit,” said Liam.

“ _Niall_!” whined Louis, turning to Niall.

Niall just shrugged and nodded. “It’s true, Lou. But we love you for it.”

“Don’t listen to them, Zayn. I’m _lovely_ , a joy to be around,” said Louis over-dramatically, placing an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and leading him toward the living room. “Now it’s time for pizza because it got here ten minutes ago and Liam made me wait until you two showed up.”

*******

“Welcome to the squad!” said Louis just a few days later as he hid behind the sofa with Zayn and Niall, waiting to pop up and throw confetti at Liam because it was his birthday and Louis had decided they should buy a cake and beer and some confetti and stream a bunch of Marvel movies; he’d texted Niall and Zayn earlier that day to invite them to the “surprise birthday party” he was planning for that evening.

Crouched behind the sofa, Niall smiled, so thankful and _happy_ that Liam and Louis had immediately welcomed Zayn into their little group.

And as he helped a drunk Zayn back to his flat later that night, he realised that maybe he wasn’t quite as thankful and happy as Zayn when Zayn told him he was _so happy_ to have made some friends and that he really _really_ liked Niall and that it was a good thing, really, that he hadn’t known how to use sound editing software.

He lay in Niall’s bed that night, curled into the blonde’s side, kissing his neck and whispering in Niall’s ear and Niall couldn’t help but turn into Zayn and kiss him softly on the lips over and over.

*******

The autumn term began a few weeks later, bringing cooler weather and busier schedules, but Zayn and Niall still saw each other most days. They went for lunch or dinner often, fitting it in between their lectures and tutor sessions and work schedules. Some days only allowed time for a coffee and muffin at Black Treacle but both boys were glad for the opportunity to see each other.

They usually spent Friday nights at either Niall’s flat or Liam and Louis’, watching movies and listening to music. Niall and Liam often took out their guitars and played for a bit while they all chatted.

The four usually went out to some local or other, whatever pub or bar or club they all agreed on, on Saturday nights.

And Sundays were lazy days, often finding Zayn and Niall cuddled up together on the sofa or going for coffee and pancakes at noon. Sometimes Liam and Louis would stop by for a little while before Zayn left to go back to his own flat.


	4. domesticating

**Book 2**

* * *

 

One night in late May, all of the boys were at Liam and Louis’ flat. While Zayn and Louis lay sprawled out on the sofa watching _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ and eating popcorn, Liam and Niall sat in the kitchen talking.

“I’m thinking about asking Zayn to move in with me,” said Niall, a little anxious about Liam’s answer; Liam had a tendency to overthink, the Felix to Louis’ Oscar, and Niall didn’t really want a list of reasons this might not be the best decision.

“Yeah?” asked Liam, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for almost a year,” said Niall, feeling the need to explain his decision to Liam. “And I think he’s at my flat more than his own.”

“When?”

“When what?” asked Niall. “When am I going to ask him? Or when do I want him to move in?”

“Either. Both,” said Liam rather unhelpfully, shrugging.

“I’m not sure,” answered Niall lamely. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask him. Like, do I just _ask_ or do I have to lead up to it somehow?”

“Probably just asking would work,” said Liam, a small smirk on his face. “He’s pretty gone for you.”

*******

Summer term came quickly, bringing Louis’ graduation with it.

Niall decided to host a small graduation party for the lad. Zayn and Liam helped, Liam sending out invitations to Louis’ friends in his course and on the community football squad he played with, and Zayn helping with decorations and refreshments.

Louis was overjoyed, only expecting a night in with Liam, Zayn, and Niall and surprised to find about twenty other friends in Niall’s little flat. He dragged the three lads into a big group hug, jumping energetically and leading the others in a great, bouncing mass of limbs and bodies.

Everyone enjoyed themselves, drinking and eating and chatting, a playlist Niall and Liam made just for Louis playing on the small speakers.

It was late when everyone left, Zayn deciding to stay rather than head back to his flat only to return early the next afternoon.

Niall and Zayn fell into bed, tucked together under the sheets, kissing softly and whispering to each other, laughing about Louis’ excitement and how Liam had to carry a drunk Louis out of the flat and, most likely, all the way back to their own.

And suddenly Niall knew how to ask Zayn to move in with him.

Like Liam had said, probably just asking would work. So he tangled his feet with Zayn’s and said quietly, “Zayn.”

The sleepy boy looked at Niall, eyes beautiful and soft. “Hmm?”

“Zayn,” asked Niall, feeling a bit nervous, “will you move in with me?”

Zayn’s eyes opened a bit wider in obvious surprise but his smile didn’t fade. Sounding dreamy, Zayn said, “Move in with you.”

“Yeah. Move in with me,” said Niall. “So we can- so we can fall asleep like this every night.”

“Mmm,” hummed Zayn. “Okay.” His eyes closed, his smile growing so big and beautiful that Niall couldn’t help himself; he leant forward and kissed Zayn firmly, moving a hand into his dark hair and pulling him closer still. Zayn kissed back, a little moan escaping his lips as he pressed against Niall.

“Okay,” he said again after a few minutes. “Okay!”

*******

“Oi! Zayn!” yelled Louis from the other side of Niall’s car. “What’ve you got in this box, mate?”

Liam walked around the car and took the box from Louis. “Give the princess something a little lighter,” said Liam, rolling his eyes and starting toward the entrance to Niall’s building.

It only took the four lads about twenty minutes to carry all of Zayn’s belongings into the flat. It was a simple move, just a few duffel bags and a suitcase of clothes, a box of shoes, a couple boxes filled with books and school supplies and Zayn’s laptop, and another box filled with family pictures and knick-knacks and other small odds and ends.

“Well that was easy, wasn’t it, lads?” asked Louis, clapping his hands together.

“I’m a lad now, am I?” wondered Liam.

“Sssh, I was talking to the lovebirds,” said Louis. “Someday, Li.”

Zayn chuckled and Niall said, “Poor Li.” He sat down on the sofa beside his boyfriend and lay down, placing his head in Zayn’s lap.

“And now we’ll leave you two to your… domesticating,” said Louis.

“They’re not cats, Lou,” said Liam.

“Niall’s like my little kitten,” said Zayn from where he sat on the sofa, gently petting Niall’s blond hair. “All soft and cute.”

“Ugh. Gross,” said Louis. “Let’s go, Liam.”

Niall giggled and Zayn smirked. “We’ll see you later,” said Niall.

“Thanks for your help and that,” added Zayn.

“You’re welcome,” said Liam. He prodded Louis in the back to get him to move.

“Anytime,” said Louis.

They walked toward the door and Liam continued talking to Louis. “Honestly, though. ‘Domesticating?’ You’re supposed to be a writer.”  

“I’m a sports journalist,” said Louis as Zayn and Niall heard the door open. “Not bloody Shakespeare.”

*******

As the months passed, Niall and Zayn settled into an easy rhythm of home life, balancing school, work, and household chores. Not much changed, really, except that Zayn wasn’t paying rent for a room in a flat that he didn’t really use.

And they no longer needed to squeeze lunch or dinner or a simple coffee date into their schedules because they always came home to each other at the end of the day. If anything, it made their relationship easier, allowing them to spend more time together without the stress of rushing out to get to work or a class or tutor session; they could curl up together on the sofa at the end of a long day or talk about their latest research or studio work while cooking dinner together.

Most weekend nights were still spent with Liam and Louis. The four boys were like a little family, offering support and friendship and love, encouraging each other’s interests and hobbies, helping one another overcome obstacles at work or school or any other struggle that came their way.

*******

“I can’t believe you ickle kiddies have finally graduated,” said Louis, taking a sip of his beer. The flat was quiet now, the guests he’d invited to celebrate his friends’ graduation finally gone.

Liam and Niall had both finished their last courses at the London College of Communication a week before and Zayn’s final research stage at Central Saint Martins had ended just two days earlier and, though Louis teased them constantly, he was very proud of the three lads. He’d painstakingly planned a surprise party for them—complete with a bouncing group hug—just as they’d done for him a year earlier.

Louis had spent the evening boasting to everyone like a proud father, telling anyone who would listen that Niall had been offered a job at The Church Studios Complex as an assistant audio engineer and Liam had landed what he said was his Dream Job at a mixing studio, The Red Room London, as a sound mixing engineer—“They’ll be starting in a couple months. Give them a bit of time to relax before they jump right into the real world,” he said—and bragging that Zayn was hired as an art curator at The Saatchi Gallery, a contemporary art museum that focused on international or largely unknown young artists, and would be starting in December—“He’s taking the position from a retiring curator and they asked him to wait until the old fart finished his tenure,” said Louis, “and Zayn agreed, o’ course. Didn’t want to pass up the job. The Saatchi’s one of his favourite museums. So he’ll be staying on at the Tate Modern, tour guide, you know, until December.”


	5. korean gold art

“Hey, babe,” said Zayn, walking into the flat and hanging his heavy winter coat on the hooks by the door.

“Hi, love,” said Niall, turning from the stove to see his boyfriend. “Have a good day at the gallery?” he asked, stirring the pot of stew on the burner before putting the wooden spoon on the spoon rest and moving across the kitchen to Zayn.

“Yeah,” said Zayn, wrapping his arms around Niall and drawing him in for a kiss. “We’ve got the Korean Gold Art!”

“Really?” asked Niall, pulling back to look at the dark-haired lad, eyes wide. “Isn’t that- That’s the one you’ve been trying to get since you started, right? Kim Il—”

“Kim Il Tae, yeah,” agreed Zayn. “We’ve got twenty of his canvas works.”

“Zayn! That’s so exciting!” said Niall. “Wish I’d made something fancier for dinner now, or got some champagne or something, celebrate proper! I’ve only made beef stew and—”

“Perfect for a cozy night,” Zayn cut in, kissing Niall again. “It’s fucking cold out. Thought I was going to catch frostbite on my way home.”

“You’re so bloody dramatic!” teased Niall.

“You gonna warm me up?” asked Zayn, lifting an eyebrow before leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Niall’s cheek.

Niall rolled his eyes and laughed lightly. “Go get changed, yeah?” he said, pushing out of Zayn’s arms and walking back to the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“You’re no fun,” said Zayn, smirking at the blonde and turning to the bedroom.

Niall rolled his eyes again and pulled two bowls from the cabinet, ladling stew into both. He went to the dining table, putting the bowls down in front of his seat and the spot opposite him.

“I still don’t understand how you can _paint_ in twenty-four Carat gold,” said Niall as he sat down at the table.

Zayn reappeared from behind the dividing curtain, dressed now in joggers and a hoodie, and walked to the table. “Been researching it,” he said. “It’s a bit crazy, really experimental. He actually developed the technique. It’ll be amazing to meet him.”

Niall looked across the table at his boyfriend, smiling brightly at the lad. “Zayn, I’m- I’m _so_ proud of you! This is”—he stopped, knowing what he was about to say sounded sappy but it was _true_ —“It’s just like your dreams are coming true.”

Zayn grinned at Niall and nodded. “Yeah, a bit,” he agreed. “Oh, I almost forgot. Um, Matty- You know Matty? I worked with him on the Aiden exhibit?”

“Yeah,” said Niall, taking a spoonful of stew, “Healy, yeah?”

“Right,” said Zayn. “He’s, um, he’s having a dinner party on Saturday night and he invited us. I know Saturday’s usually pub with the lads and that but—”

“Oh,” said Niall, feeling a little anxious and wondering if that was how Zayn had felt when he’d first invited him to meet Louis and Liam, “o’ course I’ll come, love. It’s exciting. I’m- I’m happy for you, love! It’s nice to see- It’s nice to see that you’re so happy at your job and that you’re making friends and”—Niall looked at Zayn and gave him a sweet smile—“I can just tell that you feel like you fit in and… that’s important to me.”

Zayn blinked at Niall. “I love you, Niall,” he said quietly.

“I love you too, Zayn,” said Niall, sincerity lacing his voice.

*******

Niall and Zayn arrived at the party, Niall asking questions about the host just as Zayn had done all that time ago, not wanting to look like an idiot. Niall didn’t like to judge people before he even met them but, from Zayn’s description of his new friend, Matty sounded a bit like a pretentious twat.

Matty greeted them at the door and Niall noticed that he looked to be about four or five years older than Zayn and himself.

“Could I get you anything to drink?” Matty asked politely after he ushered them in and took their coats.

“Just a beer would be great,” said Niall.

“Oh, I should have been more specific,” said Matty, condescension plain in his voice. “Red or white?”

“Red or white?” repeated Niall, a little confused.

Matty made what appeared to be a failed attempt to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Wine,” he said. “Red or white _wine_.”

Niall ended up with a glass of red wine, Zayn a white, and they found seats on a loveseat in the very modern living room.

The five people already in the living room were deep in a conversation about the new exhibit that had opened a few days before. Zayn joined the conversation effortlessly and Niall listened. Zayn had talked a lot about the exhibit, proud because it was the first big project he’d worked on since he started at The Saatchi.

After a few minutes, Niall felt able to join the conversation, chatting with the others about the installation, the artist, the difficulties they’d encountered while trying to hang panels from the ceiling without setting off the fire sprinklers, and the graphic design work for the signs displayed throughout the show.

No matter what Niall said, and no matter how pleased Zayn looked that Niall _remembered_ everything he’d told him about his exhibit, Niall couldn’t help but feel so very out of place and uncomfortable; he simply felt _judged_ by Matty and the other guests.

After dinner, Matty asked Niall about his job, a politeness for Zayn’s benefit rather than genuine curiosity, Niall knew. Niall told about his job at The Church Studios Complex, where he worked as an audio engineer and was assisting with some post-production work in addition to the session engineering.

“Have you met anyone important yet?” asked Matty.

Niall wasn’t quite sure what Matty meant;  _everyone_ was important to somebody, he supposed, even the small artists just starting out and learning the ins and outs of recording in a professional studio.

“Important?”

“You know,” said Matty, the condescending tone back in his voice, “anyone _famous_?”

“Vampire Weekend have been in the studios the last couple weeks,” Niall told the party, shrugging. “Been pretty exciting.”

“Mmm. I’m  _so_ tired of those pretentious music snobs with their preppy, ‘unique,’” said Matty, forming quotation marks with his fingers, “brand of indie pop-rock.”

Niall thought it was a bit rich, someone who seemed the very definition of a pretentious snob calling other people—people he’d never even met—pretentious snobs. “They’re actually really nice blokes. Bloody talented musicians,” he said. “One of me favourite bands.”

“Mine too. _Modern Vampires of the City_ is one of my favourite albums,” said Zayn, placing an arm on the back of Niall’s chair.

Niall looked at Zayn with a fond smile, surprised by his boyfriend’s bold, rather out-of-character statement—Niall knew that Zayn often felt uncomfortable in social situations and didn’t like to speak out against what seemed to be the popular opinion for fear that any potential new friends wouldn’t like that he held a different one.

“It’s the first album Niall will be a part of all the way from start to finish,” added Zayn. “I’m proud of him. Exciting and that.”

Niall’s smile grew even wider and he ducked his face to hide the blush that he could feel on his cheeks. Who cared what Zayn’s pretentious museum friends thought about him as long as Zayn was proud of him?

The rest of the evening passed much the same. Niall couldn’t wait to leave but he remained polite and friendly, listening to the conversations around him and nodding occasionally but not offering too much of an opinion about any topic for fear that Matty or any of the other guests would take the opportunity to try their best to make him look and feel like an uncultured, ignorant idiot.

When Matty gave them their coats and said good night at the end of the evening, Niall couldn’t think of ever having been so happy to leave a party. He decided not to mention to Zayn that he didn’t really like his new friends too much, that they made him feel uncomfortable and judged and a bit like a silly, idiotic child. He didn’t want to hurt Zayn’s feelings or make him feel badly that Niall felt so unwelcome and out of place.

He thought it was best to let Zayn have his own friend group, separate from Liam and Louis and himself; he knew how happy Zayn was that he’d made more friends. And, after all, they still spent plenty of time together and hung out with the Odd Couple very frequently.

*******

As the months passed and Zayn settled into his job at the gallery, he began to hang out with his new friends, often going to museums and art galleries during the day on Saturdays or to the occasional soft openings of new exhibits and installations at various museums on weeknights.

Otherwise, life continued as normal, much as it had since Zayn had first moved in with Niall. They still hung out with Liam and Louis on Friday and Saturday nights, maintaining their traditional Friday night movie nights and Saturdays out at the local, Liam and Louis usually stopping by their flat on Sunday afternoons for a little while.

Niall and Zayn still went on dates, going to dinner or the movies or out for an ice cream; they both dressed as if every date was their first date, trying to look their best for each other because they usually saw each other in trackies and old tees, hair unstyled, as they moved around getting ready for work in the morning or when they lay cuddled up on the sofa watching television and movies.

And they still spent time together, chatting and telling stories, talking about everything that mattered to them, no matter how small or silly, and gave their support and love to each other. They still joked and laughed while they cooked dinner together, eating at the small dining table like they had the night Zayn asked Niall to be his boyfriend.

*******

It wasn’t until mid-September that Niall began to feel anything was different.

It was little things, really, Niall thought as he got ready for bed one night, things he hadn’t even noticed at first because it wasn’t uncommon for them to have nights where they both did their own thing, Niall playing guitar while Zayn painted in his corner by the large windows or Zayn reading a new book while Niall made dinner and listened to his newest record.

“Hey, love,” he asked, walking out of the bathroom to where Zayn was lying on the sofa with his laptop on his knees and earbuds in his hand. “You coming to bed?”

“Not yet,” said Zayn. “Watching a documentary Matty recommended. Don’t want the light keeping you awake.”

“Oh,” said Niall, feeling a little disappointed because he’d wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend. “Didn’t you- Didn’t you watch that last night?”

“No.” Zayn shook his head and popped an earbud in. “Watched _Mr. Robot_ last night.”

Niall pouted a little. “I want to watch _Mr. Robot_.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, babe,” said Zayn. “I didn’t know. Matty and George and I have been watching it on Wednesday nights and talking about it at lunch on Thursday.”

“I’ve been saying for months that”—he stopped, looking down at the floor for a second before looking back at Zayn—“Nevermind. Enjoy your documentary.” He walked to the sofa and bent down, giving Zayn a quick kiss on the lips.

“Good night, babe,” said Zayn, giving Niall a quick smile before popping in his second earbud and looking at his laptop.

Niall went to bed, curling up alone on his side, blankets pulled up nearly over his head, too many thoughts filling his mind to allow him to sleep.

Niall had noticed over the last few weeks that Zayn had begun to feel more and more _distant_. Though they lay on the sofa, feet tangled together or cuddled under the blanket, Zayn very rarely watched the same program as Niall, often watching or listening to something on his laptop, headphones on. It would take a few attempts, and often a nudge or two, to get Zayn’s attention when Niall asked Zayn what he wanted for dinner or tried to tell him a story he’d thought of and wanted to share with his boyfriend.

It wasn’t until now that Niall fully realised _how_ incredibly disconnected from Zayn he really felt. It seemed that Zayn had a completely new set of interests and hobbies that Niall knew nothing about; whenever he would ask Zayn what he was watching or reading, Zayn would answer that it was a show or documentary or book that one of his new friends or coworkers had recommended.

Niall felt lost. They’d always talked about their interests and passions with each other before, even if they didn’t share them; Zayn wasn’t the biggest Eagles fan and Niall didn’t care much about comic books and superheros. Niall was curious about his boyfriend’s new interests but now it felt a bit like pulling teeth to get information out of Zayn. He was confused and a little hurt, if he was being honest.


	6. outta heart

One night in November, Zayn went to an art opening at The Whitechapel Gallery with a few colleagues. Niall decided to spend the evening with Liam and Louis at their flat.

“Nialler,” Louis greeted him at the door. “Where’s Z?”

“He’s gone out with his friends to an opening,” said Niall. Louis and Liam exchanged a look that went unnoticed by Niall as the lad took off his coat and kicked off his shoes, moving into the living room.

“More lo mein for us then!” said Louis cheerily, trying to lighten Niall’s mood a bit.

The three boys chatted while they ate take away Chinese food out of the paper containers, sitting on the floor around the coffee table, talking about work and the attractive young woman Liam found flirting with him nearly every day.

“How do I tell her I’m not interested?” he asked.

“I know,” said Louis. “I’ll show up to the studio one day, right, and give you a big kiss and say, like, ‘I can’t wait to see you tonight, Daddy.’ All seductive.” Liam choked on his rice and Louis added, “Or you could just tell her you’re not interested.”

“Right,” said Liam after taking a big sip of his soda, “I’ll probably just try that.”

Louis and Niall laughed and then there was silence for a few moments.

The silence was broken when Niall asked quietly, sounding a little hesitant, voice wobbly like he was going to cry, “How do I tell Zayn that I feel like he- he doesn’t want me to be part of his life anymore?” Liam and Louis looked at Niall, eyes wide and brows raised, surprised at the pain in Niall’s voice. “How do I tell him that I feel like he doesn’t love me anymore?”

Before he knew it, he was crying, two months of tears streaking his face and sobs shaking his body. Louis dove forward, wrapping his arms around the lad and pulling him into his chest. “Oh, Ni baby,” cooed Louis into Niall’s ear as he pet the boy’s blond hair.

Liam crawled from the other side of the coffee table and brought both boys into a tight hug. “I reckon you tell him what you just told us,” he said kindly.

*******

Niall found Zayn in the kitchen when he arrived home, looking soft and warm in a pair of joggers and a faded old tee, making himself a cup of tea.

“Hi, love,” said Zayn, looking up from his tea. “The kettle’s still hot if you want a cuppa… Ni, what’s wrong?” he asked anxiously, noticing Niall’s splotchy face and red eyes. He stepped toward Niall, placing his hands on the boy’s cheeks. “Niall?”

Niall leant forward, pressing his lips to Zayn’s. Zayn returned the kiss, sliding his hands into Niall’s hair and pulling his face closer to his own. He wasn’t really certain what was wrong but he knew Niall needed comfort, needed _him_ , so he kissed him softly, slowly, sweetly.

Zayn pulled back after a minute, cupping Niall’s face in his hands again and repeated his earlier question. “Ni, love, what’s wrong?”

It was Zayn’s turn to cry when Niall asked him, sounding so _broken_ and _small_ , “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

“Niall. Babe. Why would you think… I love you _so much_ ,” said Zayn, swiping his forearm across his eyes to wipe away his tears. “Why do you think that?”

Niall wiped his own face and sniffled, closing his eyes and looking away from Zayn.

“Babe, I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” said Zayn, trying to calm himself a bit. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea and then we’ll- then we'll talk. Okay, love?”

Niall nodded and allowed Zayn to lead him to one of the chairs at the table. Zayn leant down and kissed Niall’s forehead before returning to the kitchen to quickly fix Niall a cup of tea, not wanting to leave his boyfriend for too long.

Tea made, Zayn gave Niall his mug before taking the blonde’s other hand and walking toward the sofa. He sat down and placed his tea on the coffee table, giving Niall’s hand a gentle tug to encourage him to sit as well. The boy mimicked Zayn’s actions, sitting down and placing his own mug on the table.

Zayn turned to Niall and pulled his legs up onto the sofa, stretching them out along the length of the sofa. He leant forward and grabbed Niall’s waist as best as he could, pulling the boy into his lap. Gently, he took Niall’s face into his hands.

“Ni, babe, why do you think I don’t love you anymore?” asked Zayn quietly, looking at Niall’s tear-streaked face.

Niall took in a rough breath and said, voice weak, “You don’t talk to me anymore. It feels like… it feels like you don’t want me to be a part of your life.”

Zayn’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“You never,” started Niall, face scrunching up as he tried to avoid breaking into sobs, “you never tell me how your day was or talk to me about work or watch telly with me and it seems like I have to _beg_ you to tell me _anything_.”

“Niall,” said Zayn, a pained look on his face, “I’m- I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t think you’d be interested in what’s going on at work or what I do with my friends or the documentaries I watch and that.”

“Zayn, you should know better,” said Niall a bit harshly. Zayn looked slightly taken aback for a second before Niall, in complete contrast to his tone seconds earlier, leant forward and kissed Zayn firmly on the lips.

“I know, I know,” murmured Zayn as he pulled back a few seconds later, forehead rested against Niall’s and eyes closed. “I know.”

Niall slid his hands to cup Zayn’s face and said, “Love, just because I might not go and buy every book on the subject doesn’t mean I don’t want to know about the things you like and- and that make you happy. I mean, you don’t give a rat’s arse about the new mixing console at the studio but you’d still listen to me talk about it for an hour.”

“You got a new console?” asked Zayn.

“Mmhm,” said Niall, nodding. “Finally replaced the crap one in Studio 2.”

“That’s exciting,” said Zayn, reaching out to wipe the last of Niall’s tears away.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “But love, please talk to me, yeah? If it matters to you, then it matters to me. And that’s cliche, and Hot Hot Heat already said it, but it’s true.”

Zayn chuckled lightly. “Hot Hot Heat. Music nerd.” Niall gave Zayn’s shoulder a soft smack and the dark-haired lad grabbed Niall’s hands in his own and squeezed softly, saying seriously, “I promise I’ll talk to you. I won’t block you out again. I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Niall, kissing Zayn sweetly.

“I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”

The two cuddled together on the sofa, drinking their tea and whispering apologies and sweet nothings, until Zayn lifted Niall in his arms and carried him to their bed.

Stripped of his clothes and cozy under the blankets, Niall fell asleep in Zayn’s arms feeling much better than he had in months.

*******

“Hey, love,” said Zayn, walking out of the bedroom with his laptop and moving toward the dining table where Niall sat eating a bowl of cereal. “Remember I was telling you about that exhibit I saw last week at White Cube at Mason’s Yard?”

“Yeah, the, um, the photorealism, yeah?” asked Niall, looking up from the open magazine on the table to his boyfriend.

“Right,” agreed Zayn. “I’ve been researching hyperrealism since Matty and I went to White Cube and”—he put his laptop down on the table in front of Niall—“just look.”

Niall pulled Zayn’s laptop toward himself and scrolled down the open page. “I don’t get it,” he said after a few moments. “They’re cool photos, but—”

“They’re _paintings_!” exclaimed Zayn, excited. “They’re paintings, Ni.”

“No,” said Niall, disbelief etched on his face as he looked from the computer screen to his boyfriend and back. “No way.”

“Yeah, oil and, um, oil and acrylic.”

“No, there’s no way,” said Niall, shaking his head.

“Yes!” said Zayn, nodding his head enthusiastically. “It’s amazing. I want to try to get _him_ ”—Zayn scrolled up to a series of three paintings by an artist named Jason de Graaf—“at the Saatchi. I’d _kill_ to do an exhibit with his art and, like, an overview of his creative process. Bet it’s wicked.”

Niall smiled at Zayn, so happy at the lad’s enthusiasm and passion. “You should do that then, love,” he said. “Talk to Matt, yeah? It’d be a killer exhibit, I reckon.

“Yeah.” Zayn nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try to talk with him about it on Monday.”

“Good,” said Niall, going back to his bowl of cereal. “You going anywhere today? You and Matt going to any galleries?”

“No,” Zayn told him, pouring himself some cereal.

“Nothing good on?” asked Niall.

“No,” said Zayn, grabbing a spoon from the flatware drawer and sitting down opposite Niall. “Matty’s going to Serpentine but I just wanted to chill with you today before we go out with the lads and that.”

Niall looked across the table at Zayn, eyes wide. He knew he _shouldn’t_ be surprised that his boyfriend wanted to spend a Saturday hanging out with him but he was, stunned by Zayn’s honesty but even more so by the fact that Zayn had turned _Matt_ down in order to spend time with him.

“Did you have anything planned for the day?” asked Zayn, taking a bite of cereal.

“No,” said Niall, shaking his head. “I was just gonna listen to some records, maybe watch reruns of _The Great British Bake Off_.”

“Sounds fun,” said Zayn, smiling at Niall. “Wait. Wait,” he said suddenly, sounding as though he’d just remembered something and Niall more than half-expected Zayn to tell him he really _did_ have plans for the day after all. “When are Turner and Kane coming to the Complex?”

“What?” asked Niall, feeling a little confused by the change of subject. “Um, next week. They’re starting on Wednesday.” He looked at Zayn. “Why?”

“I just- I know you’re excited to work with them and I didn’t want to miss it,” he explained, giving Niall a crooked little grin.

“Oh,” said Niall faintly, his heart speeding up a bit.  

He would have to make sure to thank Liam and Louis for their expert advice.


	7. chicken and stars

Niall and Zayn returned to their flat from Louis and Liam’s on the Friday before Christmas. It had been an uneventful but relaxing evening, after the hustle and bustle of the holiday season’s chaos, spent watching Christmas movies and admiring the _real_ Christmas tree Louis had begged Liam to let him pick out.

Zayn, though physically present, had seemed distant from all three of the other lads, even more quiet and withdrawn than usual.

“Zayn, love,” said Niall as they crawled under the blankets that night, “everything all right?”

“Do you ever think about traveling and that?” asked Zayn, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Yes,” said Niall, a little unsure about Zayn’s question. “Maybe we could go away on holiday. After the New Year, yeah?”

“Mmm,” hummed Zayn, nodding his head a little in agreement. “No. I mean, like, see the world. Move around and that.” Niall turned his head on his pillow to look at Zayn, a little uncertain what exactly Zayn was getting at. “Leave London, like.”

“No,” said Niall quietly. “I’d like to see the world, yeah. But London’s me home. And Mullingar.”

“Don’t you ever feel trapped?” asked Zayn a few minutes later, eyebrows furrowed.

Niall rolled onto his back and faced the ceiling, closing his eyes. Silent tears formed on his cheeks as he said simply, “No.”

He should have seen this coming, he knew, thinking back over the past few weeks, of all the times Zayn had slept on the sofa rather than tucked away in bed with Niall. There had been times when it felt more like they were flatmates than boyfriends, Niall realised, but things had been going so well after they’d talked a month and a half earlier and he’d dismissed it.

Niall cried himself to sleep, feeling confused and alone and a bit like a hindrance, like he was holding Zayn back from the life and experiences he wanted.

*******

The holidays passed with Zayn seeming depressed and even quieter than usual. He seldom even went out with his friends from the museum, turning down invitations to art openings and gallery events.

Zayn didn’t tell Niall, didn’t know _how_ to tell Niall, that he was restless. He felt tied down, attached to one place when there were so many places he knew he needed to be and so many things he knew he needed to see and experience. He wanted to travel and explore and see the world and he wanted to do it with Niall.

But London was Niall’s home. He’d told Zayn that before Christmas. Niall had cried in their bed next to Zayn that night; Zayn had waited until Niall fell asleep before he let his own tears fall.

Because it wasn’t fair to expect Niall to just drop his whole life, give up everything, just to stay with Zayn. Niall was happy with this life in London, his life with Liam and Louis and his cozy little studio flat and the recording studio and the music school and the bakery next door.

He’d been with Niall since he was nineteen and he’d just turned twenty-three.

And Zayn had realised that a lot changes in your early twenties. Everything you’d always wanted maybe isn’t exactly what you need. It was a revelation that had come to him about a month earlier and it had shook him, broken him, challenged his beliefs, and left him feeling empty and scared.

He was deep in an existential crisis and couldn’t bear to bring Niall with him.

He still loved Niall. _God_ , he still loved Niall. But he couldn’t love Niall as deeply as he deserved to be loved because you can’t love someone properly when both of your hearts want different things.

He couldn’t hurt him anymore.

*******

Niall woke up early one morning, the room still dark in the winter’s grey dawn, and found he was alone in bed. With sleep-blurred eyes, Niall spotted a folded paper on the pillow next to him. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach as he reached out blindly and picked it up. Pushing himself up with his empty hand, Niall leant over to turn on the small lamp on his nightstand.

He looked down at the paper, folded perfectly in half, and opened it. In Zayn’s tight, slanted handwriting, the note read simply,

“Please don’t wait. I’m not coming home tonight. I want to love you but I can’t.  
You deserve more.  
Zayn”

Niall reread the note a dozen times, eyes wide and lips trembling. It wasn’t until he let out a choked cough that he realised he was crying, tears streaming down his face and burning his cheeks.

He sat, staring blankly at the note without moving, for nearly a half hour. Just as the pale winter sun began to break through the tree branches outside the flat’s large windows, Niall picked up his phone and called Liam. The phone rang several times before it was answered.

“Niall,” said Liam hoarsely. Niall didn’t say anything and Liam repeated himself, a question this time. “Niall?”

A few more seconds passed in silence and then Niall said, voice monotone and low, “He’s gone.”

“What? Who?” asked Liam groggily. There was a pause and then Liam said, sounding a bit clearer, “Right. We’ll be there soon, Ni.”

“Please, Li,” said Niall, sounding so small and _so_ hurt.

“We’ll be right there,” said Liam before ending the call.

Niall lay back down, dragging the blankets back over his shivering body, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, his eyelids heavy with sleep and heartbreak.

Liam and Louis arrived about twenty minutes later, letting themselves in with a spare key. They found Niall curled up in the middle of the bed, crying silently into his pillow, note still in his hand. Wordlessly, Louis took the paper from Niall’s hand and placed it on the nightstand, making a mental note to get rid of it later.

Liam sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes before sliding under the blankets with Niall. On the other side of the bed, Louis mirrored Liam’s movements. Liam pulled Niall’s still-shivering body toward his own, arms around Niall’s waist, and Louis moved closer, wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck and plastering himself to Niall’s front.

They lay like that, in the quiet of the small flat, cuddling Niall from both sides, and let him cry himself back to sleep.

Soon Liam fell asleep too, clutching Niall to his chest.

After about an hour or so, Louis untangled himself and got up. He drew the curtains closed around the bed area, heading to the small kitchen to make himself tea. He looked around the flat, now flooded with weak January sunlight, and noticed that all of Zayn’s belongings were gone. Zayn’s photos and paintings, pictures of Zayn’s family and Zayn with Niall and the couple with Liam and Louis, were gone. Zayn’s laptop and book collection, his painting supplies from the corner by the windows, his clothes and shoes, and all of his little knick-knacks and keepsakes were gone.

Liam woke up shortly after Louis left the bed and made his way to the kitchen, finding Louis sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.

“He’s really gone then, isn’t he?” asked Liam quietly.

Louis looked up and nodded. “He’s taken all his things. Even his toothbrush is gone. Li, do you think he knew this was going to happen?”

“Who? Niall?” asked Liam incredulously. “I’d say not, going on how badly he’s been shaking since we got here.”

“Not _Niall_ , Li,” hissed Louis. “Zayn. D’you think he’d been planning to leave? Like, started packing so he could just _leave_ during the night?” He sounded a bit indignant.

“I don’t know, Lou,” said Liam honestly, dropping a kiss to the top of his friend’s head as he walked past to make himself some tea.

*******

Niall wasn’t sure what time it was when he woke up but his head was throbbing and his mouth felt dry and his eyelids felt puffy and swollen and _heavy_. He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling, eyes blurry. He heard the television, volume low, on the other side of the curtain and knew that Liam and Louis were still there.

Niall had heard people say they were _heartbroken_ before but now he understood the word perfectly. The ache in his chest was so intense, so sharp, that he wanted to cry just from the physical pain.

He lay there a bit longer, staring at the ceiling, before throwing the blankets off himself and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Feet on the floor, Niall closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he stood and pushed the curtain aside.

Liam and Louis looked up from where they sat on the sofa, taking in Niall’s splotchy red face and bloodshot eyes. Shuffling across the flat toward the pair, Niall climbed onto the sofa beside Liam and pulled his feet up, tucking himself into Liam’s side. Liam placed an arm around Niall and brought him in closer, resting his cheek on the top of Niall’s blond head.

Louis stood and moved to the kitchen, this time making a cup of tea for Niall. He returned a few minutes later, placing the mug on the coffee table in front of the boy and returning to his seat in the very corner of the sofa.

“ _Why_ can’t he love me?” asked Niall, heartache dripping from his words. His chin wobbled and tears dotted his eyelashes again. “ _Why_?”

“Oh, Ni baby,” breathed Louis. “I think that’s on him, love. Not you.”

“The note said”—Niall hiccupped—“the note said, ‘I want to love you but I can’t.’ Why can’t he _love_ me?” His lips trembled and sobs shook his body, his chest and tummy convulsing with their force. Liam hugged him tighter and Louis took one of his hands into his own. “Why, Lou?”

“I don’t know, babe,” said Louis, tears in his eyes now. “I don’t know.”

The two lads held Niall until his body stopped shaking so violently and the tears seemed to have run dry for the time being.

Louis insisted on getting Niall something to eat, finding some chicken broth and a box of pastina stars and fixing Niall a simple bowl of chicken and stars. He handed Niall the bowl of soup and said kindly, “Me mum always made chicken and stars when I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Thanks, Lou,” said Niall, giving the boy a watery half-smile.

Niall sipped his soup, sitting cross-legged on the sofa between Liam and Louis. When he’d finished, he placed the empty bowl on the coffee table.

“I think I must’ve done something wrong,” he said slowly, as though coming to terms with something he’d been avoiding for a while.

“What do you mean, Ni?” asked Liam gently.

Niall continued, sounding as though he was talking to himself, only vaguely aware Louis and Liam were still there. His voice was hollow and empty. “I mean, I knew he was distant. He didn’t want me in his life anymore. He told me that wasn’t true, but it was, really.”

Neither Louis nor Liam knew what to say so they let him go on.

“Of course he doesn’t want me. I’m a bit shit, really,” he told the corner of the coffee table.

“You are _not_ shit, Niall Horan,” said Louis suddenly, a hint of anger in his voice. Niall looked at Louis, a bit startled, and there was so much sadness and sorrow and heartbreak in his eyes that Louis’ breath caught in his throat. “You are not shit,” he repeated more kindly.

“Louis,” said the blonde as if he were explaining something to a very daft person, “he doesn’t want me anymore. I’m not enough. He wanted more and I couldn’t give it to him.”

“What did he want?” asked Liam, speaking up from behind Niall.

“He wanted to travel and see the world,” he said and, after a pause, sighed and added, “He wanted to leave London.”

“And you didn’t,” said Liam slowly.

“No,” agreed Niall.

“Do you want to now?” asked Louis.

Niall considered the question for a minute. _Yes_ , he thought. Yes, he would travel the world for Zayn. But somehow, he knew it wouldn’t matter. Zayn needed something else now, _wanted_ something else, and Niall wasn’t enough.

Looking up, he surprised everyone in the small flat, including himself, when he shook his head and said quietly, “No.”

He wiped at the tears forming in his eyes again and allowed Louis to wrap his arms around both him and Liam, holding them all close to each other.

*******

Liam and Louis left at close to midnight, wrapping Niall in a big blanket and making him a pot of chamomile tea before they left.

Now Niall sat on the sofa, heavy blanket around his shoulders and mug of tea in his hands. A sense of overwhelming worthlessness settled around him now that he was alone. He felt so unwanted and unloved.

It was agonizing to give all of your love to someone who, in the end, wasn’t able to love you back just as strongly, Niall realised. Not all love is good and beautiful, he decided, because unreciprocated love was cruel and harsh and contemptuous.


	8. 96 point futura

The months passed, the grey winter turning to damp, dewy spring.

Niall’s depression, however, didn’t pass as quickly.

He often woke up during the night, the unsettling sensation of suffocating disturbing his sleep, the solitude and pain absolutely smothering, and he would have a panic attack; vision blurring and breath uneven, the only thing that calmed him down was crying while listening to The Maccabees’ album _Given To The Wild_.

He realised soon after Zayn left that his flat had never seemed so empty and quiet. The realisation surprised him because the tiny studio flat was too small to feel empty even with only one person, really, but it was so cold and lonely.

Despite the beautiful weather and the entire city of London waiting outside his flat, Niall often didn’t leave his bed from the time he arrived home from work on Friday evening until he left for work early Monday morning. He ignored his phone, not responding to missed calls or texts, and began to avoid his friends, no longer regularly spending his Friday and Saturday nights with Liam and Louis.

It seemed he only saw the two lads when they stopped by after work or when they came by on weekend mornings to encourage Niall to get out of bed, to shower and put on some proper clothes, to eat something healthy, and sometimes to go for a walk around the neighbourhood.

*******

By May, Niall seemed a bit better.

He still hadn’t quite got used to sleeping alone or only making dinner for one but he supposed that after living with and sleeping beside someone for over two and a half years, that wasn’t too unusual.

Little things still got to him, certain songs playing on the radio and the vinyl copy of The Eagles’ _On the Border_ that Zayn gave Niall for Christmas one year. One day, a coworker told him that his horn-rimmed glasses “suited him” and he’d needed to excuse himself to the toilet while he tried his hardest not to cry.

But for the most part, he was doing much better. He’d returned to his usual weekend routine with Louis and Liam and he no longer needed the lads to give him wake-up calls or remind him to eat and shower on days he didn’t have to work.

*******

Louis arrived home from work one evening in early June with An Idea. Liam rolled his eyes good-naturedly, because Louis’ _ideas_ were often brilliantly organised chaos or lighthearted shenanigans, but he listened to Louis.

Louis told Liam that he’d heard one of the editors talking about her upcoming annual holiday to Bournemouth.

“You want to go to Bournemouth then?” asked Liam.

“No, Li,” said Louis, a little exasperated that Liam didn’t know what he meant. “ _Nialler_ should go!”

“Um, okay,” said Liam, shrugging a shoulder. “Why?”

Louis rolled his eyes over-dramatically and said, “To get away.”

“Well, yeah. I got that much,” said Liam. “But why?”

“Li-am! He needs to get away. Get out of that stupid flat for a bit, yeah? Go to Bournemouth for a week. Sit on the beach and work on that marvellous burn he gets out in the sun, right, and just _relax_ ,” Louis explained. “He’s still dealing with what Zayn did, fucking wanker. A nice holiday could help, I reckon.”

Liam smiled fondly at the smaller lad, always admiring the way Louis thought of his friends and family all of the time, finding them in unexpected places, like a coworker’s brief mention of her holiday destination. “That’s a good idea, Lou,” he said sincerely.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Now let’s get to work!” said Louis excitedly.

“Get to work?” asked Liam, mildly puzzled.

“Yeah, you twat!” said Louis. “Got to find him a hotel, don’t we?”

“Do we?”

“‘ _Do we_?’” exclaimed Louis, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Yes, we do!” He disappeared into his room and returned a moment later with his laptop and a notepad.

Louis and Liam spent the next few hours playing travel agents, spending the evening searching places to stay and things to do and places to eat in Bournemouth. They found a few sweet little bed and breakfasts away from the town centre, especially liking one in the Southbourne suburb near a beautiful, sandy beach called Fisherman’s Walk. They found restaurants, bars and pubs, shops, and even a few music venues in the town centre; they decided not to mention the art museum that Zayn would have no doubt loved if he and Niall had ever gone on holiday to the beach town together.

An hour and a half later, they had two pages filled with lists—hotels and bed and breakfasts, beaches, and restaurants, activities and entertainment and the usual tourist spots—with their top choices in each category starred. Louis printed out information on their favourite bed and breakfast, a few pages of information about Fisherman’s Walk Beach, and a list of summer festivals and attractions from the Bournemouth tourism website.

“Right,” said Louis, standing from the table and grabbing up his laptop and the notebook. “We’ll tell him tomorrow then.”

“Okay, Lou,” said Liam, smiling at the boy as the smaller lad headed toward his bedroom.

*******

Liam and Louis arrived at Niall’s flat the next evening for movie night with a large bag of Nando’s takeaway and their Bournemouth holiday “research.”

Takeaway spread out on the kitchen counter, the three lads filled up plates with food and grabbed beers. They moved to the living area, Louis and Niall taking seats on the floor at the coffee table and Liam sitting on the sofa with the small folding TV tray in front of him.

“Nialler,” said Louis as they all got situated, “what do you think about going away on holiday?”

“What, like, with you lot?” asked Niall.

“No,” scoffed Louis. “Just you. Someone was talking about Bournemouth at work yesterday. Thought it might be nice for you to get away for a little while.”

“Could be good,” said Liam. “Relax a bit, get you out of this flat. You’ve had a bit of a rough time. It might help.”

Niall laughed. “Ah, fuck off! I’m fine.”

Louis and Liam looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Right,” said Louis, picking up his stack of neatly paperclipped papers and barrelling ahead with his Idea undeterred. “We’ve done a bit of research, yeah, and we’ve found a few bed and breakfasts. This one in Southbourne is our choice.” He found the pages about Beach Lodge Guest House and slid them across the coffee table to Niall.

“I like that room…” said Liam. “What was it called, Lou?”  

“Liam likes ‘Wych Elm,’” said Louis, flipping to the second page to show the picture of and information about the room.

“I like ‘Wych Elm,’” agreed Liam.

Louis returned to his stack of papers and continued. “There’s a nice beach just a few minutes’ walk from the guest house called Fisherman’s Walk Beach. It’s award-winning!”

“Didn’t know beaches could be award-winning,” mused Niall, looking at the pictures Louis handed him.

“Neither did we but there you go!” said Louis happily.

Louis went on, telling Niall about the restaurants and shops in Southbourne and giving him the list of festivals and attractions throughout all of Bournemouth.

“What do you think?” he asked eagerly when he’d finished his presentation.

“I don’t know, Lou,” said Niall. “I mean…” Niall trailed off.

“You little shit,” said Louis with a smirk as Liam started the movie.

While the movie played, Niall thought about Louis’ idea. It did sound nice, if he was being honest. A chance to get away for a week or so could be an excellent opportunity to get away from the sadness and heartbreak and pain he still felt nearly every day. It could be an excellent way to finish the long healing process, because that was most definitely what the last several months had been—healing an open, gaping wound that kept having salt rubbed in it whenever he went to sleep alone or heard certain music or ate at particular restaurants or wore clothes that Zayn had loved on him. And maybe a holiday would help him regain some of his self-confidence and self-esteem, help him to feel less worthless and invaluable.

After about fifty minutes of debating with himself, he turned, looking to the sofa where Louis had moved to join Liam.

“All right, then. I’ll go,” he said.

“Yes!” exclaimed Louis, looking absolutely delighted. Liam smiled his warm, crinkly-eyed smile from beside him.

*******

The night before Niall was set to leave, he decided to call his mother while he sorted through his laundry and packed his suitcase. He’d avoided most of her phone calls and had only spoken to her a handful of times since the break-up.

He’d missed talking to his mum, he realised, as he told her about the guest house that Louis and Liam had found, the room they’d booked for him, and the beach where he planned to spend a lot of time.

“It’ll be good, I reckon,” he told her. “Just get out of London and relax a bit. I think it’ll help. I’ve felt a bit shite lately, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t know why _that_ could be,” teased Maura lightly.

“Hush,” said Niall, chuckling at his mother’s teasing. “That’s what Liam and Lou said too.”

“You’re lucky you have those boys,” Maura told him kindly.

“Yeah, I am,” agreed Niall.

He spoke to his mother a bit longer, ending the call with promises to talk to her more often and to send her pictures from Bournemouth.

As soon as he ended the call, he opened his group chat, which Louis had titled “Lilo & The Leprechaun,” and typed a long message to the pair, thanking them for everything they’d done for him over the last few months and telling them how much he appreciated that they took the time to plan this whole trip for him. He sent a second shorter message that said, “If I didn’t have you, there would be nothing left. I love you both.”

Finally packed, Niall made himself a simple dinner—a ham and cheese sandwich and crisps—and straightened up his apartment, putting clean sheets on his bed and checking the refrigerator for foods that might expire while he was away and setting the garbage bag by the door to take down to the bins when he left in the morning.

He decided to go to sleep early; a good night’s sleep seemed like the proper way to start off what would hopefully be a relaxing holiday. He fell asleep soon after he got in bed, thinking of how nice it would be to fall asleep on the sandy beach and go for strolls along the quiet streets of Southbourne.

Niall woke up early the next morning, excitement bubbling up in his tummy, and got showered and dressed.

After a quick breakfast of cereal and a cup of coffee, Niall brought his suitcase out to his car. He went back up to his flat to check that everything was turned off and that he hadn’t forgot anything, grabbing the last banana from the fruit bowl and the bag of rubbish by the door, and left again, locking the flat up behind himself.

Niall got back out to his car and climbed inside, starting it up. He hooked his phone up to the radio and set his music to shuffle. Vampire Weekend’s “Holiday” began to play over the speakers and Niall turned it up, singing along with Ezra.

He pulled away from the curb and began his three hour drive to Bournemouth.


	9. here comes the sun

Niall arrived in Bournemouth around noon. The drive had been easy enough; he was glad he’d left London when he did because he’d managed to avoid the morning rush hour traffic. He found the Beach Lodge Guest House easily, following the directions Siri gave him, and checked in.

He settled into his room, finding it to be nicely furnished and decorated with a comfortable bed and a view of the sea. He texted Liam to tell him that Wych Elm had been an excellent choice.

Hungry, he consulted Louis and Liam’s research to find their suggested restaurants. First on the list was a pub called the Spyglass & Kettle. Louis had noted that it was only a five minute walk from the guest house and that they served food all day. Niall quickly changed into his swim trunks, throwing on a tee and a pair of trainers. He threw a towel, sunblock, an old blanket, and a book into his backpack and grabbed his wallet and room key, locking the door as he left.

He walked the short trip to the pub and sat at the bar, ordering fish and chips with mushy peas and a pint of Guinness.

Hunger quenched, Niall made his way down to Fisherman’s Walk, the grassy cliff leading down to a beautiful sandy beach. He found a small unoccupied area of sand and laid his old blanket down. Rubbing sunblock into his fair skin, Niall decided to go for a swim.

He splashed around in the water for a bit, enjoying the sun and the smell of the saltwater and the slight breeze that kept the day from being too hot.

Louis was brilliant, Niall decided, and Liam had been right when he said that it would be good for Niall to relax and get out of his flat, get out of London. He felt lighter somehow, free in a way that he hadn’t felt in months. Life was hard, he knew, but it was beautiful too.

Niall returned to his blanket after a while in the water, reapplying sunblock before lying down to take a nap.

While Niall napped, a handsome young lad watched him from where he was swimming in the water.

The handsome lad’s name was Harry Styles and Harry was a merrow.

Though male, Harry had always felt more comfortable around the mermaids than the merrow-men, who were ugly with scaly legs and tails and fin-like arms and who ridiculed Harry for his beauty and his modest, affectionate, gentle disposition and shunned him as an outcast.

For as long as he could remember, Harry felt a strong attraction to the beings above the waves. He supposed it was in his blood, literally, because his mother left the sea when she was young and fell in love with a human man. She’d lived as a human for three years but returned to the sea after she learned she was pregnant, fearful of what might happen if her baby was born a merrow above water.

Harry was frequently with his mother and the other mermaids but even more frequently was alone. Intrigued by human life, Harry often left the mermaids to go pop up at beaches around the south of England and watch the humans as they swam and sunbathed, never leaving the sea but observing them from afar. Harry found that he was more attracted to human males than human females.

Harry studied Niall from the water, watching him sleep on his blanket in the sun. He was the most beautiful boy Harry had ever seen and he wondered what it would be like to cuddle with him because he looked so _soft_. He sighed dreamily, imagining himself snuggled into the angelic boy’s arms on the blanket, his fluffy blond hair tickling his cheeks.

Harry knew he shouldn’t keep watching, that it really was rude to stare, but he didn’t want to dive back beneath the waves because he didn’t want to miss the sleepy boy for even a second. He may never get a chance to see him again, Harry reasoned, so he shouldn’t waste it by returning to the boring sea.

He continued watching the blonde, daydreaming about holding his hand and maybe eating ice cream. He’d always wanted to eat ice cream. Humans seemed to enjoy it quite a lot and, from what Harry could tell, there were _many_ different kinds and he wanted to try them all. He hoped the beautiful boy liked ice cream; ice cream always seemed to make people happy and Harry wanted him to be happy very badly.

Lost in his daydreams, Harry didn’t notice that Niall had woken up until the boy sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. Quickly, Harry swam behind a small outcropping of rocks. He wanted to look at the boy until he left the beach so he could memorize everything about him, his soft hair and his pale skin that was turning a bit red from the sun and his freckles and his eyes that matched the colours of the sky and the ocean. He wanted to remember him forever, really.

So Harry hid behind the rocks as Niall shook the sand off his blanket, watching the muscles in his shoulders move under the skin and wanting to smooth his hands down his back and feel him. He watched as Niall folded the blanket up and shoved it into his backpack with the sunblock and beach towel.

And then he watched as the boy walked away from his sandy patch, moving toward the promenade that led back to the town and away from Harry.

Harry stayed above the waves, the ends of his long hair dipping into the salty water, until long after the boy had left.

He felt sad and lonely again, left with only his daydreams.

Unaware that, for the last few hours, he’d been admired from the waves, Niall returned to the guest house, showering and changing into sand-free clothes before heading back out.

He explored the Southbourne suburb, walking round the shops and restaurants and pubs, recognizing many from Louis and Liam’s research.

At around half seven, Niall stopped back at the Spyglass & Kettle for dinner and a pint, learning that they had live music most nights.

This holiday had been a good idea, he decided.

*******

Niall decided to walk around the whole festival once before stopping at any of the booths. It was the second day of the Bournemouth Food and Drink Festival and there were so many tents filled with different booths, each selling a variety of cuisines and foods—Mexican, Thai, Spanish tapas, burgers and chips, German sausages, ice cream, grilled cheese sandwiches, wood fired pizzas—and some offering produce, cheeses, and meats from local farms and dairies.

He discovered an area of the festival dedicated to breweries and distilleries and ordered a pint of a locally brewed ale before heading back to the tents; he thought that a burger and chips would go nicely with his beer.

Niall found a seat at a picnic table near the small stage and sat to eat his burger. He remembered that Jamie Oliver was set to give a cooking demonstration that afternoon and wanted a good spot. He listened to the band that was on the stage finish their set; he wasn’t familiar with them but he thought they were quite good.

Niall watched as Jamie’s cooking demonstration was set up, neatly arranged bowls of prepared ingredients spread on the small table and a little gas hob set by the table. Finally, Jamie came out and started, showing the audience how to prepare a perfect creamy mushroom risotto.

Afterwards, Niall stood in line with a copy of _jamie at home_ , Niall’s personal favourite Jamie Oliver cookery book, waiting to meet the chef. Niall gushed to the older man, telling him that he owned _all_ of his cookery books and had seen nearly _every_ episode of _every_ series of all of his shows, blushing like a schoolgirl when he asked for an autograph and selfie.

He stayed until the end of the night, leaving when the vendors started to close up their booths for the evening, and returned to Southbourne.

*******

Niall spent the next few days relaxing and enjoying himself. He ate and drank at several restaurants and pubs around Southbourne and the greater Bournemouth area, taking a walk one day to Southbourne Ales, a microbrewery that opened only a month earlier.

He found himself reading a lot, more than he had in months, and listening to plenty of music. He went for a few sunrise walks on the beach, enjoying the quiet before the families showed up with their excited children for a day in the sun.

Niall spent time at the beach every day, swimming and renting beach chairs and umbrellas and, one day, a colourfully-painted beach hut because they were charming and it seemed like a fun thing to do.

Niall realised one day, as he lay reading in the sun on his blanket while allowing a little girl to bury his feet in the sand with her toy shovel, that he hadn’t felt this happy and peaceful for ages. The buzzing that had started as a deafening roar when Zayn left and decreased bit by bit as the weeks and months passed was gone and all he could feel was the beating of his heart and his own steady breathing.

And every day, Harry watched Niall from the waves, enthralled by the beautiful boy with the golden hair who was so kind to the children at the beach. On the fourth day, Harry learnt that the boy’s name was Niall because that was what all of the kids yelled out when they saw him.

Harry decided that Niall had an amazing laugh, so happy and joyful, when he let the children bury him in the sand one day; he’d laughed and laughed as they dumped buckets of sand onto his legs and arms and tummy, patting it down with their small hands to encase him.

It was on the fifth day that Harry decided he wanted to meet Niall. While Harry watched Niall help the children build a sandcastle and teach them the best way to build a moat, he thought of a plan. He would remove his _cohuleen druith_ , his little magic seacap that allowed him to swim beneath the waves as a mermaid, and would come to shore. He wasn’t really sure how gruesome the transformation from fishtail to human legs would be, though—he’d never seen any of his fellow merpeople transform before and had never asked his mother about her own experience because it seemed a taboo subject whenever he tried to talk to her about his father and what it was like to live above the waves—so he decided to wait until nighttime, when all of the families had left for the day and the beach was empty. He hoped that would ensure that he wouldn’t scare anyone or draw too much attention to himself.

Harry would wait on the beach until Niall showed up the next day. He wasn’t sure how exactly he would approach him but he figured he could just go up to Niall and introduce himself, act as if he was just another lad on holiday at the beach.

Once the beach had cleared out for the day and the sun had started to set, Harry swam to the shore and, sitting on the wet sand at the water’s edge with his tail still in the salty water, he removed his seacap.

It was a strange feeling, Harry decided. It was rather unpleasant but not painful, as he’d expected it would be, and felt a bit like when his arms would fall asleep after hanging onto the wave breakers to watch the people on the beach for too long.

He watched as his tail split down the middle, stitching into two long legs, the blue-green scales falling away and fair skin that didn’t really match his suntanned torso appearing instead. Big feet with long toes replaced his flipper, the same fair skin covering the new appendages. He noticed that his bum felt _bare_ , the sensation of the damp sand underneath him odd to his senses.

And then there were his male parts. Harry was surprised to see that human penises were larger than those of merrows; his was longer and thicker,  _much_ longer and thicker, than it had ever been before.

Harry wiggled his toes, deciding that he liked the feeling of the water between them. He rolled his ankles, noticing how the muscles in his legs moved under the skin, similar to how they moved when he kicked his flipper but also sort of _different._

Once the prickling in his new legs and feet stopped, Harry figured he should try walking. He didn’t want to look foolish when he met Niall, if he could help it.

His first attempt to stand didn’t go very well. His legs felt _weak_ and he wasn’t sure if they would be able to support his weight. He tried again, rising up onto his knees before pushing himself up onto his feet, hands planted in the sand in front of him. The second time went a bit better—he managed to stay up this time—and he took a tentative step forward, moving one foot in front of the other and noticing that his legs felt gangly and unsure and _far too long_.

Harry stumbled along the water’s edge for a bit before falling ungracefully down to the sand, sitting with his toes in the water and staring out across the open ocean. Walking, it seemed, was _difficult_ and _awkward_. He hoped that he wouldn’t look too silly when he introduced himself to Niall the next day but suspected he might. He sighed and hoped that Niall wouldn’t mind an awkward, gangly boy with long, messy hair and unevenly toned skin.

The mermaid flopped down onto his back, looking up at the stars above him. He thought they looked a bit different from the land than they did the sea but maybe not. He closed his eyes and listened to the crashing of the waves against the breakers, realising that the ocean even _sounded_ different from the beach. Soon, Harry fell asleep under the moon, anxious for the next day.


	10. i don't bite

**Book 3**

* * *

 

Niall woke up, rolling over in his bed to see the pale early morning sunlight filtering warm but weak through the curtains. He’d been lucky with his holiday so far and hadn’t had any rain, just beautiful sunny days, perfect for the beach.

He got out of bed and made himself a pot of tea; his room had a full tea set—complete with a small teapot that was just the right size to make tea for two, two lovely china cups and saucers, spoons, sugar, milk in the small refrigerator, and a variety of teas—and an electric kettle, which Niall thought was just too quaint.

As he drank his tea, Niall decided to go for a quiet walk along the beach before all of the families arrived and he had a half dozen children clambering to bury him in the sand or dragging him off to build sandcastles.

Teapot empty, Niall changed into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, slipping on flip-flops. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, opting to shower when he got back from his walk. He grabbed his room key and, checking the electric kettle was off, left the room.

Niall walked down Fisherman’s Walk and headed toward the end of the beach farthest away from the guest house. The sun was only just making its way into the sky, low enough still that Niall supposed it still counted as _dawn_. He walked along the water’s edge, waves lapping at his feet, and admired the sun rising over the sparkling water.

At the first set of wave breakers, Niall noticed a figure lying on the ground a bit farther along the beach. He walked closer, finding a stunningly beautiful and very naked man asleep with his toes in the water and his long, wavy dark hair fanned around his head in the sand.

Niall stared at the boy, not sure what to do. He didn’t _know_ the boy, had never seen him before—he was quite sure he would remember if he had—but he couldn't just leave him here. Families would be arriving in a few hours and he was pretty sure that being found naked on a family beach by some little girl would be a good way to get arrested for, at the very least, indecent exposure.

“Mate,” said Niall finally, hesitantly, “mate, wake up.” The boy gave a little sniffle and turned his head away from Niall, still asleep. Niall sighed. He supposed he could just leave the boy but it didn’t seem _right_. He crouched down next to the naked man and said again, a little more loudly, “Mate, wake up!”

The boy shook his head as though trying to flick something out of his hair and Niall said once more, “Wake up, mate.” The boy’s head turned back toward Niall and his eyes opened slowly, sleepily. It seemed to take him a few moments to figure out what was going on before his eyes went wide in panic and he sat up, pulling his legs toward his torso and pushing himself away from Niall quickly.

“Whoa,” said Niall, a bit startled by the boy’s frantic behaviour. He stood up and took a small step back, raising his hands in front of himself. “Calm down, mate. It’s okay.” The boy’s eyes widened even more and he looked scared, absolutely terrified, as he brushed his messy hair back with a sandy hand. Niall wondered if the boy had been drugged. “Are you okay?” asked Niall kindly, voice low and gentle. “Do you need help finding your friends or anything?”

The boy looked at Niall, green eyes still wide and panicked, and shook his head slowly, a contrast to how quickly the rest of him seemed to be moving; even his breathing and heartbeat seemed fast.

Niall lowered himself again, crouching a few feet away from the boy. “How about clothes?” asked Niall. He _really_ hoped that this boy hadn’t been drugged and stripped naked by some horrible person. “Do you have clothes somewhere?”

The boy looked around the bit of sandy beach surrounding him—looking for his missing clothes, Niall assumed—and shook his head again, this time more quickly. Suddenly, he looked like he was going to cry and Niall was overcome with concern that something was _terribly wrong_.

“Why don’t you- why don’t you come with me?” suggested Niall. “You can sleep for a bit and, uh, maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.” The boy’s eyes were still wide, filled with tears and a mix of what Niall thought was _fear_ and _distrust_. “It’s okay,” said Niall, reassuring and kind. He smiled a friendly smile, bright like the sun that was rising over the water. “I just want to help you.”

The boy blinked and looked away, turning his gaze to the sand beside him, a flush colouring his cheeks. He nodded slowly, still not looking at Niall.

“Let’s get you tucked away so you can get some rest, yeah?” said Niall, standing from his spot on the beach. He offered a hand to the boy to help him up. The boy looked at him, nervous and timid, before reaching up to put his hand in Niall’s. “Come on, then,” said Niall gently, gesturing with his head toward the walk that led from the beach to streets above.

Niall helped pull the boy up, noticing how unsteady on his feet he seemed, almost like he was still drunk or high from the night before. He wondered again if the boy had been drugged. He nestled his shoulder under the boy’s arm and wrapped an arm around the boy’s waist, offering him support and helping him walk across the sandy beach and up the walk. As he tucked the boy into his side, he was overwhelmed with the smell of salt water and _ocean_ , as if he had been swimming before passing out on the beach.

As they stumbled awkwardly along the street and toward the guest house, Niall was thankful that it was still early and still that misty, dim sunrise of summer mornings; he thought that being seen leading a naked stranger, who appeared to be either drunk or high, down the street, his goose pimpled arm wrapped around Niall’s shoulders and Niall’s arm around his waist, might be a little uncomfortable to explain.  

They arrived at Niall’s room about fifteen minutes later. Niall helped the boy sit on the bed, lowering him down to the mattress and untangling their arms.

“They might be a little small,” said Niall, rifling through his clothes to find a tee and a pair of joggers, “but at least they’re, ya know, _clothes_.” He tossed them to the boy, who looked down at them with furrowed brows, a look of confusion on his face. Niall wondered again if there was something wrong with the boy; perhaps he should take him to the hospital if he didn’t seem any better after a nap and maybe some food.

“Here,” said Niall, moving slowly toward the bed. “Let’s get you dressed.” He picked up the shirt and bunched up the hem, opening the neck so he could slip it over the boy’s head. He pulled it over his head and the boy looked at him blankly. “O-kay,” said Niall, realising the boy needed even more help than he’d anticipated. He reached down and tucked one arm up into the sleeve, repeating it with the other arm and tugging the shirt down to cover his torso. Joggers in hand, Niall sat down on the bed next to the brunette and tapped his knee. “Lift up, yeah, and put your leg in.” The boy followed his instruction with a shaky leg. “Other one now, come on. There you go.” Niall gave a tug and pulled the joggers up his thighs before instructing him to stand up, which he did unsteadily, so he could pull them up over the boy’s bum and settle the waistband around his tummy.

“They’re a bit short,” said Niall, looking at the joggers that left his ankles and about three inches of leg exposed. “We’ll go to town later, once the shops are open, and get you some proper-fitting clothes.”

The boy looked at Niall, eyes wide and innocent like a baby deer, and Niall said kindly, “Why don’t you have a nap, yeah? I reckon you can’t’ve slept too well on the beach.”

The boy blinked and nodded, lying down with his head on the pillows and long hair fanning out around him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, long arms wrapped around his legs. Niall’s brows furrowed for a few seconds, unsure why he’d not got under the duvet, and walked to the bed. He pulled the spare blanket over the boy and tucked it around his body.

Niall moved to the wicker armchair by the windows and watched the boy in the bed, his eyes closed and body rising and falling with his steady breathing. Niall hoped that a bit of sleep would help him because he was honestly quite worried about the strange boy. He’d seemed scared and distrustful on the beach, startled awake from what Niall thought might very well be a drugged state. He’d been slow and awkward walking, unsteady on his feet as though he’d never walked before, and hadn’t said a single word to Niall since he found him. And the boy didn’t seem to know how to put on clothes or get himself tucked into the bed, raising the concern for Niall that there was maybe some sort of head injury or brain damage causing him to forget basic skills.

He decided to let the boy sleep for as long as he needed, choosing to shower and maybe read a bit while the lad rested.

Showered and redressed, Niall made another pot of tea, settling back into the wicker chair. He picked up his book and opened to his bookmark. The boy sniffled and turned over on the bed, his face soft and smooth with sleep, and Niall wondered what kind of person would be able to hurt this boy who looked so innocent. He hoped for the hundredth time that he was wrong, that there was some other explanation for the boy’s behaviour, but couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t malicious.

At around noon, Niall decided to go down the street to get a bit of takeaway for lunch. He’d not had breakfast—he’d planned to go for food after his walk but had been a bit derailed by the naked stranger now sleeping in his bed—and was rather hungry. He took the little pad from the nightstand, embossed with _Beach Lodge Guest House_ , and wrote a quick note to the boy—“I’ve gone to get us lunch. I’ll be back soon! :)”—before grabbing his key and wallet, slipping his sandals on, and leaving the room.

He returned to the guest house about a half hour later, not really surprised to find the boy still asleep, and unpacked the paper bag from the restaurant. He set the salad he’d ordered for the boy on the small side table before unwrapping his sandwich, sitting back in the armchair, and eating his lunch.

It was just about one o’clock when Harry woke up. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep that clouded his eyes, and found Niall sitting in the armchair by the windows, his knees bent and legs curled up in the seat, an open book rested against his thighs. He watched the blonde for a few minutes, studying how his facial expressions changed as he read the pages of his story.

“Hey, mate,” said Niall when he noticed the boy was awake, looking up and catching him watching him. “How are you feeling?”

The boy pushed himself up and sat against the headboard. “Um, I feel better, thank you,” he said, voice deep and raspy but sweet and _gentle_ , a combination Niall hadn’t known was possible.

“Well, that’s good, then,” said Niall, giving a small smile. “So, we’ve done this a bit backwards, I suppose.” Harry looked at him, unsure what Niall meant. He clarified a moment later, saying, “My name is Niall Horan. I’m on holiday from London but I’m from Ireland.” That seemed to be enough of an introduction for Niall because he looked at the boy expectantly.

“Oh,” said Harry, realising Niall wanted to know his name. “I’m, um, I’m Harry. I’m from”—he stopped for a second, not exactly certain where to tell Niall he was _from_ —“I’m from here.”

“So your family is here? Or your friends?” asked Niall, thinking that he could help him get home safely.

“W-ell,” said Harry hesitantly, “sort of. My mum lives here but- but I can’t see her.”

“Oh,” said Niall, feeling a little sad for Harry and wondering if they’d maybe had a huge fight or falling-out of some sort. “I’m sorry. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he said though he looked unsure. “It’s just… where she lives. I can’t go there anymore.”

“Oh,” said Niall again, a little confused. “Um, why not?” Harry looked at him, eyes wide, and Niall realised that maybe hadn’t been the most polite thing to ask. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“She lives in the sea,” said Harry quietly, looking away from Niall and down to his lap. “And I can’t go there again.”

Niall’s eyebrows raised in surprise, his own eyes widening in shock. Clearly, there was something wrong with this boy. “She lives in... the sea?” asked Niall.

“Yes,” said Harry. “We’re mermaids.”

Niall stared at the boy, his jaw dropping at the statement. This kid, Niall decided, was obviously a nutter.

“What?” Niall asked, a grimace that reflected his sudden discomfort on his face. “Aren’t- aren’t mermaids usually _women_?” he wondered aloud, as though _that_ was the most confusing bit of all of this.

“Yeah,” said Harry, crossing his arms over his chest almost defensively and dropping his eyes from Niall’s face. “But, um, the merrow-men aren’t very nice and I don’t- I don’t really fit in with them that well.”

“Oh,” said Niall, voice a little tight and choked, not really sure what else to say.  

“They’re very rude and they call me mean names because I’m... not like them,” continued Harry a bit sadly.

“Well, you, uh, you don’t seem rude or mean,” supplied Niall, trying to provide a little comfort to the boy. “So… there’s that.”

“No,” agreed Harry. He flushed slightly, as though embarrassed about what he was about to say. “Merrow-men aren’t very pleasant to look at and”—a small, bashful smile appeared on his pink face—“they’ve got terrible hair.”

Niall let out a surprised chuckle. “You certainly don’t have to worry about any of that,” he said, missing the blush on Harry’s face that changed from rosy pink to deep red at his words. “You’ve got quite nice hair, I reckon. All wavy and flowing and glossy.”

“Thank you,” said Harry shyly. “I comb it every day.”

Niall smiled. “So how is it you’re so pleasant to look at if merrow-men are so ugly?” he asked, teasing.

He still wasn’t quite sure what to think about this boy but there was something about him that just drew Niall in, a charm that captivated him. Maybe he could give the boy a chance before he decided he was insane and brought him to the nearest hospital.

“I’m only half mermaid. My mum’s a mermaid but my father was a human,” explained Harry. “I never knew him. I was born in the ocean.”

Niall decided to ignore the first question that came to mind—how could a mermaid become pregnant with a human’s baby?—and skipped to the next. “Is that why you can come out of the water?”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I took off my _cohuleen druith_ —”

“Little... charmed cap,” said Niall, realising this was probably the first time his near-fluency in Gaelic had come in useful since he’d left Ireland.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, nodding. “That’s how I can dive under the waves and, you know, live underwater.” He was quiet for a moment and then he said, voice trembling a little with the threat of tears, “But I’ve lost it.”

“What?” asked Niall.

“I came to shore and I took off my cap. And once my body changed to _legs_ , I tried to learn how to walk,” said Harry, sounding on the verge of crying, “and I got very tired. So I lay down in the sand to sleep a little bit. And when I woke up… it wasn’t there,” he finished forlornly.

“So now…” said Niall, eyes widening with sudden understanding, realising now why Harry had seemed so distraught on the beach that morning when he couldn’t find what Niall had believed to be his missing clothes. “What’ll you do?” he asked quietly, hushed, his voice laced with concern.

Harry looked back at Niall for the first time in five minutes. He shrugged, dejected and dispirited, and said simply, “I don’t know.”

Niall blinked and looked away, not sure what to say or do. This was all very confusing. His eyes fell on the salad he’d got for the boy— _Harry_ —and wondered if he would eat it. Niall wasn’t sure what mermaids ate. Seaweed maybe? Fish? It _was_ a kale salad and he figured kale was similar enough to seaweed; there was a piece of grilled tuna on top as well, so maybe Harry _would_ eat it.

“Are you, um, are you hungry?” Niall asked Harry. “I got you a salad but I don’t- I don’t know what mermaids eat.” He gave a small apologetic half-smile.

Harry’s eyes lit up a bit. “I want to try human food,” he said, more enthusiastically than Niall had expected. Niall reached over to the side table and grabbed the salad and the little plastic fork they’d put in the paper bag, opening the lid of the takeaway container. “I’ve always wanted to try ice cream. It comes in so many colours and it’s very pretty!”

Niall chuckled. “All right then, mister. We’ll get some ice cream later”—he handed Harry the salad and fork—“but you should eat some proper food first.”

Harry took the paper box and looked down at it. “Um,” he said, picking up the fork awkwardly, “what is it?”

“Oh, uh, it’s a salad,” said Niall. “Kale. So… maybe like seaweed? Do you eat seaweed?” Harry nodded and Niall continued, feeling a little heartened. “And there’s tuna. Do you eat fish? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“I don’t know what vegetarian means, but I eat fish every day.”

Niall laughed. “You’re not a vegetarian, then. It means you don’t eat fish or meat.”

“Okay,” said Harry, playing with the fork in his fingers. “Um, what is this?” He waved the fork around in front of his face.

Niall laughed again, not unkindly, and said, as though Harry’s lacking cutlery experience was the deciding factor, “You really are a mermaid, then!” He reached forward and took the fork out of Harry’s hand. “This is called a fork and you hold it”—he positioned the fork correctly in his hand—“like this.” He stabbed a piece of kale from the salad and lifted it up in front of his face, miming taking a bite. “Now you try.” He handed the fork back to Harry and watched him arrange it in his hand, holding it awkwardly.  

“Fish looks different when it’s not in the sea,” said Harry as he ate his salad, looking a bit like a toddler learning to feed himself, and Niall was so _endeared_ by all of it.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “We take off the scales and the head and the tail before we eat it. Sometimes the skin too. And we cook it.”

“You should try it before it’s cooked,” said Harry. “It tastes really good like that too.”

“Mmm, I’ve had sushi before. I like it,” said Niall. Noticing the curious look on Harry’s face, he added, “Some cultures don’t always cook their fish. In Japan, they make sushi with raw fish and seaweed and rice.” He considered Harry for a few seconds. “You might like it. Sounds like proper mermaid food.”

“I’d like to go to Japan,” said Harry.

“Bit far of a swim, I reckon,” said Niall and Harry nodded.

“I’ve been all around the United Kingdom and Ireland,” he told Niall. “And France. Well, this side of France, you know. By the English Channel. Mum wouldn’t let me go down to the Bay of Biscay.”

“Why not?” asked Niall, curious.

“She says the water’s too rough and she worries.”

And suddenly Niall was struck with sadness. Harry’s mother cared for him and worried about him just as his own mother did for him. And now Harry was lost, missing from the sea, and she may never be able to see him again.

Niall wanted to ask Harry if he would be able to see his mother again, if there was a way to tell her what had happened so she would at least know that he was alive and safe—because he _was_ safe, Niall decided, because he would take care of Harry and help him adjust to life as a human as best as he could—but decided not to just yet. He didn’t want to upset Harry any more than he most likely already was.

“So, Harry”—Niall suddenly realised Harry hadn’t given him a surname when they’d made their introductions earlier—“Harry what? Have you got a surname?”

Harry looked slightly confused. “I don’t- I’m not sure what a surname is,” he admitted, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“Like, a family name,” said Niall, unsure how _exactly_ to explain a surname. “Mine’s Horan. Me da’s Bobby Horan and _his_ da’s surname was Horan and—”

“My father’s name is Desmond Styles,” said Harry, sounding very formal in the way he said his father’s name and Niall was reminded that Harry had told him he didn’t know his dad. “So I guess I would be Harry Styles?”

“That seems fitting,” said Niall, giving Harry an appraising look. “I like it.”

Harry smiled, pleased, and said happily, “Thank you!”

“So, Harry Styles,” started Niall again, giving the boy a smile, “would you like to go to Bournemouth? We can find you some proper fitting clothes. Maybe have some ice cream too.”

“Um, yes,” said Harry. “Please, Niall. I would- I would like that.”

Niall smiled, loving the way his name sounded falling from the brunette’s tongue. “Then let’s get you washed up first, yeah,” suggested Niall. “Get that sand out your hair.” He stood from his seat on the armchair and took a few steps toward the bed, offering a hand to Harry to help him stand.

“Right,” said Niall once they stood side-by-side in the bathroom, “ _this_ is the shower. Well, posh bathtub, I s’pose.” He reached down and twisted both knobs, turning the water on. “You turn _this_ ”—he twisted the left knob—“to make the water warmer and _this_ ”—he turned the right—“to make it colder.” He looked at Harry, who nodded his understanding. He lifted the detachable showerhead from its resting place above the bathtub’s tap, from which warm water was currently running, and flipped the switch so water began to stream from the showerhead instead. He turned the water off and looked at Harry. “Ya got it?” he asked kindly.

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Niall. He handed Harry a bar of soap and showed him the bottle of shampoo, explaining their uses, and then pulled a fresh towel from where they were stacked by the toilet. “And this towel’s to dry off after you’re done, yeah,” he said, hanging the towel on the bar by the tub.

“Okay,” said Harry and Niall turned to leave the bathroom, keeping the door open a crack in case Harry needed anything.

His eyes landed on the bed, messy with sand and salt water, and made a mental note to ask Martin or Faith for fresh bedding. He didn’t really want to spend the next several days sleeping in sandy sheets.

Niall sat back in the armchair, picking up his book but not opening it, distracted by the numerous thoughts that all centred around the awkward, lanky lad with beautiful wavy brown hair and jade green eyes who was in his shower right now, singing a song Niall had never heard before but kind of never wanted to _stop_ hearing.

He was amazed, and maybe a bit disconcerted, by how quickly he’d grown fond of Harry and the fierceness with which he felt the overwhelming desire to protect Harry and help him adjust to this new life.

But even more so, Niall was surprised to realise that he didn’t find Harry’s story, his claim to be a mermaid—half mermaid and half human—to be as farfetched now, less than an hour after he’d been told the story, as he had when Harry had first made that announcement.

In fact, now that Niall thought about it, he seemed to remember his father mentioning to him and his older brother Greg when they were children that their grandmother’s family had merrow blood, could trace back to a baby born to a mermaid and a human man; the mermaid had returned to the sea soon after, unable to resist her natural instincts to return to her home beneath the waves. Niall had always assumed that the old Irish tales of merrow and human interbreeding had been just tales and folklore but maybe there was truth to them after all.

Niall heard the water shut off and then, a few minutes later, that sticky-slow voice call out, “Niall?”

“Yeah, Harry?” asked Niall, standing from his chair and walking toward the partially open door.

“Could you- um, can you help me please?”

Niall pushed open the door and found Harry standing in the middle of the bathroom, his joggers on correctly but the shirt only on halfway, his right arm through the proper sleeve but his head somewhere near the left sleeve and his left arm pinned to his side beneath the fabric.

Niall bit back a laugh and walked into the bathroom, helping Harry adjust the shirt so his head and arms were all through the correct holes.

Finally dressed, Niall’s flip-flops on Harry’s feet, they left the room. Niall locked the door and led Harry down the stairs to the small lobby. They stopped at reception and Niall rang the bell on the desk. A minute later, Faith, one of the two innkeepers with whom Niall had become acquainted during his breakfasts at the guest house, appeared from the office behind the reception area.

“Niall, good afternoon,” she said, giving the blonde a small smile, her eyes flickering toward Harry before returning to Niall.

“Hi, Faith,” said Niall, noticing her quick glance at Harry. “Um, this is my friend Harry. He’s, uh, he’s going to be staying with me for the rest of the week. If that’s- if that’s okay?”

She nodded and smiled again. “Of course that’s okay, love. No reason you can’t have your friend stay with you.”

“Great,” said Niall, catching the anxiety on Harry’s face and giving his hand a squeeze. “Um, could we maybe have some clean sheets as well? They’re a bit sandy and—”

“Yes, certainly,” said Faith. “I’ll ask housekeeping to change the bedding when they make their rounds.”

“Thanks, Faith.” Niall turned from the reception desk and looked at Harry. “All right, Harry. Let’s go get you some clothes that fit.” With a light tug on his hand, Niall led Harry out of the guest house and to his car.

“So _this_ is a car,” said Harry, sounding almost awed, as they approached Niall’s Volkswagen Jetta.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, a crooked smile on his face. “This is a car. Now come on, get in.” Niall opened the passenger side door and gestured for Harry to climb in. Once seated, Niall leant in and buckled Harry’s seatbelt before closing the door and walking around to his side.

The blonde started the car and pulled out of the car park, heading toward the city centre. He’d seen a Topman one evening while he’d been wandering around Bournemouth; that seemed like as good a shop as any to find Harry some clothes.

“Niall,” said Harry when Niall stopped at the first traffic light, “why are you stopping?”

“Traffic signal’s red, yeah.” Niall pointed to the traffic light in front of the car. “Means I have to stop so the cars coming from that road”—he pointed to the cars on the crossroad—“can go and not have me, ya know, smash into them.”

“Oh,” said Harry quietly.

“Yeah. And now it’s green, see,” said Niall, gesturing to the light with a tilt of his head. “So I can go.”

“Red means stop, green means go,” said Harry, a small smile on his face as he looked out the window.

“Right,” agreed Niall, amused by Harry’s naivety.

The car was quiet for a few more minutes before Harry said again, “Niall?”

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Why’s there a giant circle?” he asked, looking out of the window as Niall entered a traffic circle.

Niall laughed. “This is a roundabout. We’re not going all the way round though,” said Niall as he took the first exit.

A few moments later, Harry’s wide eyes switched from the window to Niall’s hands on the steering wheel and gear shift, studying his movements. “I want to learn how to drive a car!” he exclaimed, excitement etched plainly on his face.

“Maybe you should learn how to get yourself dressed first, yeah, before we let you go driving round a car?” suggested Niall, a cheeky smile on his on face.

Harry blushed and looked toward his knees, a shy, almost embarrassed smile on his full lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

Niall drove through three more roundabouts—though Harry tried to hide his obvious joy from Niall, it was clear that he found each was just as exciting as the last—before he found a spot in a car park near Topman.

“We’ll have to walk a bit,” said Niall, unbuckling his own seatbelt and then reaching over to undo Harry’s. “Ya think you’ll be okay?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve got to learn how to walk, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, nodding. “S’pose ya do.”

With a bit of support from the blonde, Niall and Harry arrived at Topman.

They’d barely taken ten steps into the store when Harry’s hand on Niall’s bicep tightened. “Oh _wow_ , Niall!” said Harry, sounding a bit like the proverbial kid in a candy store. “Look at all the _clothes_!”

Niall looked around at the racks of clothes, the walls covered in shelves and hooks. “Yeah. Look at all the clothes,” he said, stifling a chuckle. “Now let’s find you something to wear so you can take off those ridiculous joggers.”

A sales associate approached the two lads. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked politely, his glance at Harry’s too-short joggers and faded tee not missed by Niall.

“Yeah, mate,” said Niall. “Young Harry here needs some clothes that fit him proper.”

“Of course,” said the sales associate— _Josh_ , his nametag said—a bit bemused by the situation in front of him. “Is there anything in _particular_ you’re looking for?” he asked Harry.

“Um,” said Harry, looking at Niall for help, not sure what the correct answer was.

“Yeah. A couple pairs of trousers and maybe, like, a pair of swim shorts,” answered Niall. “He’ll need a few shirts, too, and a sweatshirt or jumper or something. And some shoes. Just casual, yeah?”

“Is that all?” asked Josh, slightly taken aback.

“Yes,” said Niall. “Oh, wait. No. Some pants too. And socks and a couple, just, like, plain tees. Should be it.”

“O-kay,” said Josh, and if he wondered why this lanky boy in short joggers and flip-flops a bit small for his feet didn’t seem to have _any_ proper-fitting clothes, he didn’t say anything. “Harry, was it?” he asked, turning back to look at Harry.

“Yup,” said Harry, nodding happily. “Harry Styles!”

Niall smiled and Josh said, “All right, then, Harry. Let’s go find you some clothes.”

An hour later, Niall sat outside the fitting room Josh had ushered Harry into, a large selection of clothing in both of their arms. Josh stood next to Niall, waiting in case Harry needed a different size of anything, since neither Harry nor Niall had known what size the boy actually wore.

“Ya all right in there, Harry?” called Niall.

“Um, could you,” came Harry’s tentative voice from the other side of the thin door, “can you help me, please, Niall?”

“O’ course, love,” said Niall, melting a bit at the softness and trust in Harry’s voice. He moved to the little fitting room and tapped lightly on the door. “Open the door for me, Harry.”

Niall entered the little room and found Harry standing in front of him, torso bare and a pair of dark denim Spray On skinny jeans pulled up around his hips but still undone, holding an obnoxiously-coloured, ridiculously-patterned button-down shirt. Niall closed the door behind himself and reached forward, pulling up the zipper and closing the button of the fly.

“I don’t know how you could get _those_ on your legs but you can’t figure out a few buttons and a zip,” said Niall playfully, teasing the blushing lad. He helped Harry into the shirt, buttoning from the bottom up, and watched as Harry looked at himself in the mirror.

“It’s so _pretty_ , Niall!” breathed Harry, and, yeah, the shirt definitely looked _a lot_ better on Harry than it had on the mannequin.

“Right,” said Niall, undoing the buttons and dragging the fabric down Harry’s arms. “We’ll get it. Next one.”

After a half hour, Harry had tried on all of the clothes that he and Josh had picked out. With Niall’s help, he’d picked two pairs of skinny jeans, three obnoxious button-down shirts, a simple grey hoodie, two plain tees, a pair of yellow swim shorts, a pack of boxer briefs and another of socks, a pair of black Chelsea boots, and a pair of white canvas trainers.

As they passed the display of sunglasses on their way to the register, Harry stopped, arms filled with clothes, and stared at the selection. “ _Sunnies_ , Niall! For _sunny_ days! Get it?” said Harry, happiness in his tone. “They’re all so _lovely_!”

“All right,” said Niall, a huge grin on his face, “twisted me arm. Pick out your two favourites, then!”

“ _Really_?” asked Harry, eyes wide.

“Go on!” said Niall, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the sunglasses display.

A few minutes later, Harry appeared at the register. He flopped his armful of clothes on top of Niall’s. “Look, Niall!” he said, joyful and enthusiastic, as though sunglasses were the most exciting thing ever. “Look!” He shoved a pair of gold-framed aviators on his face, modelling them for a few moments before taking them off and replacing them with a pair of white wide-framed oval sunglasses. “What do you think?” he asked eagerly, taking off the sunglasses and setting them on the counter next to the rest of the clothes.

“They look nice, Harry,” said Niall gently, giving Harry a soft smile.

“Thank you,” said Harry, a light blush painting his cheeks.

“You’ll look proper swish.”

“That comes to five hundred pounds even,” said Josh from behind the counter.

“Right.” Niall took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his bank card, dipping it into the chip reader and typing in his PIN.

Harry looked confused, gaze moving from Niall’s bank card and back to Niall.  “What’s five hundred pounds mean?” he asked Niall.

“That’s how much everything costs,” explained Niall. He looked at Harry and saw confusion still etched on his face. “How much I have to pay.”

“What?” asked Harry, eyebrows knit together.

“Well,” began Niall, not quite sure how to explain capitalism to a mermaid but deciding to start small, “you have to pay for things when you buy them. Like we’re buying your clothes. So we have to pay. Um, give them money for the clothes.”

“And that’s money?” Harry asked Niall, looking at the bank card.

“Kind of,” shrugged Niall. “It works the same as money, anyway.”

“I don’t have any money,” pouted Harry, taking the small shopping bag Niall handed him.

“No,” agreed Niall, taking the two larger bags and thanking Josh for his assistance.

Harry followed Niall in silence, allowing the blonde to lead him out the door and back to the pavement, a deep pout on his face as he seemed to contemplate this newest revelation.

“C’mon, love,” said Niall kindly, noticing Harry’s distress. “Let’s go get your first ice cream.”

The corners of Harry’s lips quirked up into the tiniest, most hesitant smile. “Yes, please, Niall,” he said quietly.

After a short walk, Harry and Niall arrived at a small ice cream shop, a large dipping case filled with a variety of flavours. Again, Harry was like a kid in a candy store.

“Niall!” he exclaimed, walking quickly toward the glass case. “Look at all of the _colours_!”

“Yeah,” chuckled Niall, watching Harry fondly. It was weird, he knew, that he was so _fond_ of Harry already but he couldn’t help it. “Do you know what colour you’d like to try?” he asked.

“Pink!” said Harry, eyes gleaming. “Or green. But there are _two_ greens! What are you getting, Niall?”

“I’m getting the, uh, the green one in the back there,” said Niall, pointing at the mint chocolate chip.

“ _Oooh_ , good choice,” said Harry, as though he knew what flavour it actually was. “I think I’ll get the purple one.”

Niall ordered their ice creams—two scoops of raspberry in a cup for Harry and a mint chocolate chip cone for himself—and took out his wallet to pay, this time with a ten pound note.

“What’s _that_?” asked Harry, pointing at the tenner in Niall’s hand.

“ _This_ is a banknote. It’s...” Niall hesitated, unsure how to explain it, “another form of money.” He handed it to the girl at the counter.

“It has a lady’s face on it,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s Queen Elizabeth,” said Niall.

The girl gave Niall his change and then his two ice creams, giving Harry a strange look before turning away. Niall led Harry to a small table, dropping his shopping bags to the floor before sitting on the bench and sliding in, followed a few seconds later by Harry, who slid in beside him.

“Hi,” said Niall, surprised by Harry’s decision to sit right next to him rather than across from him.

“Hi,” said Harry cheerily, a bright smile on his face.

Niall smiled back, endeared, and gave Harry his ice cream.

“Why’s _mine_ like _this_ ”—Harry pointed at his cup, a spoon stuck in the ice cream—“and yours is like _that_?” He pointed at Niall’s cone stacked high with mint chocolate chip ice cream to emphasize his meaning.

“I thought you should practice with a spoon before we try _this_ ,” said Niall. “Don’t want you dropping your ice cream before you even get a taste.”

That seemed like a satisfactory answer because Harry picked up the spoon, just as awkwardly as he’d held the fork earlier, and glanced up at Niall shyly. “How does this work, Niall? It doesn’t- it doesn’t have _points_.”

“Scoop it up, don’t stab it like… yeah,” said Niall as Harry scooped up a spoonful of raspberry ice cream.

“Like a trowel in the sand!” said Harry, eyes glittering with joy. “Like when the children build sandcastles.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Niall quietly. “Kinda.” He watched as Harry took his first bite, his green eyes widening comically.

“Niall!” Harry swallowed his ice cream, licking his lips. “It tastes so _so_ yummy! Like _purple_!”

Niall laughed out loud, eyes crinkling up. “It tastes like raspberry,” he said finally. “I’m glad you like it.”

Harry blushed, something Niall found _far_ too beautiful, and told Niall, “I don’t know what raspberry is but it’s delicious.”

*******

“Niall?” said Harry quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“Yeah, Harry?” Niall looked briefly at the boy beside him in the car, noticing his obvious anxiety about whatever he was about to say.

“Um, I was- please don’t be mad- I was… spying on you,” said Harry, voice still quiet. “At the beach.”

“What?” asked Niall, a little confused. He spared a glance back at Harry before turning back to focus on the road.

“I was spying on you. When you were at the beach,” Harry repeated.

“You were spying on me?” asked Niall again, not angry but simply curious.

“ _Please_ don’t be mad, Niall!” begged Harry. “I saw you on the beach one day! You were asleep in the sun and you looked so _beautiful_. And then you came back every day! You read and- and you _swam_! You played with the children and you made them _laugh_ and then _you_ laughed when they covered you with sand and- and- and your laugh sounds like _magic_ , do you know that?”

“Magic, eh?” said Niall, turning to look at Harry for a few seconds. He found it ironic that a _mermaid_ thought there was something about _him_ that was like magic.

“Yes! And- and I just,” Harry sighed, “I wanted to _meet you_ because you seemed so _happy_.”

“Wait,” said Niall, understanding dawning on him. “Did you- did you come to land… to meet me?” He hoped he was wrong, hoped beyond hope that he was wrong, because he didn’t want to be the reason this poor lovely boy could never return home, could never see his mother again.

“ _Please_ don’t be mad, Niall!” pleaded Harry, tears forming in his eyes. “Please! I just wanted- I just wanted _a friend_!”

Niall softened. It was a bit bittersweet, he realised—Harry had traded the life he knew, his mother, his _world_ , for a friend. Of course, Harry hadn’t planned to lose his seacap, had never intended to stay on land.

“I’m not mad, Harry,” said Niall gently. He reached over to pat Harry’s knee. “I’m not mad. I just- you lost your _cohuleen druith_ and now you can’t go home. And I- I feel bad.”

“Don’t- don’t feel bad, Niall,” said Harry sweetly. “I have- I’ve got a friend now.” He paused for a second, suddenly unsure. “Are you- are you my friend?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah, Harry.” Niall smiled at the boy. “I am your friend.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, Harry gazing out the window.

“I was scared. When you woke me up this morning,” admitted Harry. “Everything’s so different here and it’s- it’s _scary_.”

“Yeah, I reckon it is.”

“And _you_ were there and it was too much,” added Harry. “I didn’t know what to do or what to say and… I wasn’t ready.”

Niall was silent, trying to work out what Harry meant. He supposed that waking up naked in a strange place with a different body and the stranger you’d wanted to meet for days hovering over you telling you to wake up and asking all sorts of questions might be a bit overwhelming.

“I’m sorry,” said Niall sincerely.

It was quiet for a while, Niall’s guilt washing over him, and then Harry reached over and placed his large hand on Niall’s where it rested on the gear shift. “Please don’t be sorry, Niall. It will be okay.”

Again, Niall was struck by the irony of Harry’s words, the irony of the boy who should be the one being comforted comforting the boy who shouldn’t really need it. He gave Harry a half smile.

“ _I’ll_ be okay,” added Harry with a smile small of his own, “because I have a friend now.”

Yes, thought Niall as he pulled into the guest house’s car park, this whole situation was _very_ bittersweet.

Niall parked the car and got out, walking around to help Harry out of the passenger seat, showing him how to unbuckle his seatbelt. He opened the back door and pulled out the Topman bags, again handing Harry the smallest bag and taking the two larger himself.

They made their way into the guest house, passing Faith, who was talking on the phone at the reception desk. Harry gave an awkward little wave and Faith waved back, smiling kindly at the boy.

“All right,” said Niall as he unlocked the door to his room, Harry close behind him in the small hallway, “I’m gonna kip for a bit. Been up since half five.” They walked into the room and Niall dropped the shopping bags on the floor by the bed which, Niall noticed, had been made up with fresh linens. “Then we’ll walk to the Spyglass & Kettle and get some dinner.” He kicked off his shoes and turned to Harry. “Sound good?”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding. “Um, Niall?” he asked a moment later, sounding nervous and a bit self-conscious. “Can I, um, can I lie down with you?”

Niall looked surprised for a second. “O’ course, Harry,” said Niall, sitting down on the bed and scooting over to make room for the taller lad. He lay down and looked up at Harry. “Lie down, love.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Niall’s too-small flip-flops off his feet, and lay down next to Niall, body rigid like he was afraid to get too close to him. Niall seemed to notice Harry’s tension because he whispered, calm and soothing, “You can relax, Harry. I don’t bite.”

Harry let out a surprised squeak, hand flying up to cover his mouth as he giggled. Niall’s eyes widened and his lips quirked up, so endeared to this strange boy lying next to him, and laughed too.

“Now let me nap!” said Niall, teasing, when they’d finally finished laughing.

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry sweetly, turning his head on the pillow and smiling at Niall.  

Niall closed his eyes, a smile on his lips, and listened to Harry’s slow, steady breathing next to him. After a few minutes, he was asleep.

Harry lay on the bed, head still turned toward Niall, watching the blonde beside him.

Harry knew he seemed innocent and naive—knew he _was_ innocent and naive—and knew he couldn’t help it, but he knew he wasn’t stupid, wasn’t naive to the reality of his situation; he’d come to land to meet Niall and had lost his seacap and now had no way to return home. He was scared, lost, but he knew he had no choice but to learn how to live on land, to survive in this strange place.

He hoped that Niall would help him, would be his friend like he’d told Harry he was, but he knew that wasn’t realistic; Niall had his own life in London and probably, Harry suspected, didn’t have room for an awkward beached mermaid in it. He’d just have to take what he could get, he supposed, and figure out this human thing as he went.

Harry’s thoughts soon grew muddied, his eyes heavy with sleep—walking, it seemed, took far more energy than he expected—and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

*******

Niall woke up an hour later, finding Harry asleep. He looked past Harry to the clock on the opposite nightstand and found that it was nearly seven o’clock; he’d slept longer than he’d planned but, he figured, he _was_ on holiday.

“Harry,” he whispered, “wake up, love.” Still asleep, Harry turned his face to Niall, unlike that morning on the beach when he’d turned away from Niall’s voice—had he really only met Harry that morning? mused Niall—and he reached out to tickle Harry’s exposed tummy lightly. “Wake up, Harry!”

“Mmm,” hummed Harry, eyes opening drowsily, “Niall?”

“Yeah, sleepyhead. Wake up,” said Niall. “Time to get dressed in some of your pretty new clothes and go for dinner.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, rubbing his eyes with curled up fists.

Harry picked out one of his new outfits, a ridiculously-patterned button-down shirt and a pair of dark skinny jeans—so tight they left very little to the imagination, though Niall supposed he didn’t really need his imagination since he’d already seen _everything_ Harry had—and his black suede boots. Niall showed him how to do up his fly and button his shirt, undoing both after he’d done them and making Harry do it on his own with Niall’s supervision.

“How do I look, Niall?” asked Harry, standing in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, modelling his new clothes, waiting for Niall’s approval.

“You look very nice, Harry,” said Niall, a little stunned because Harry looked kind of _perfect_. “Much better than my joggers.” He smiled and Harry blushed.

Harry and Niall left the room again, Niall locking the door behind them, and headed to the Spyglass & Kettle. As they walked through the small streets of the small city suburb, Harry asked Niall question after question, about parking meters and street lights and postboxes and crosswalks.

“So many _questions_ ,” teased Niall playfully as they approached the pub.

“Well, I need to learn,” said Harry, a little defensively. “Now that I’m a human and stuff.”

Niall felt a splash of sorrow at the reminder that Harry would never be able to return to his life in the sea. “I know,” said Niall soothingly. “I was just teasing, Harry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Niall,” said Harry, slipping his hand into Niall’s and squeezing gently.

Niall squeezed back and, Harry’s hand still in his, led the taller lad into the pub.

*******

Harry and Niall returned to the guest house at just after eleven o’clock, both a little drunk; Harry had been eager to try a sip of the Guinness Niall had ordered with his hamburger and had pleaded with Niall to let him order one as well. It turned out that it only took half a pint to get Harry tipsy, giggling and blushing and affectionate.

As Harry and Niall lay in Niall’s bed that night, Harry curled up beside him, nuzzling his nose into Niall’s neck. “You’re so nice, Niall,” he whispered against the blonde’s throat. “You’re so nice and so pretty.” He giggled softly. “Your freckles are like the stars.”

Niall pulled back and looked down at Harry, mild amusement on his face. “And _you’re_ drunk, silly boy,” he said fondly.

“Shhh,” hushed Harry, index finger pressed against his own lips. He looked up toward Niall, eyes glazed with alcohol. “’M not,” he said. He blinked. “Wanna kiss your freckles.”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat because that sounded _lovely_. “Oh,” he said dumbly, his brain not quite able to think of anything else to say. Suddenly Harry was placing tiny kisses to each of Niall’s freckles, his soft lips tickling the skin of his neck and jaw and cheek.

Harry began a second round of kisses, starting at the bottom of Niall’s throat, and Niall’s eyes fluttered shut. _Yes_ , he decided, he would take Harry back to London with him—give him a home and friends and pretty clothes and the nicest life he could provide—because he was a _good_ , _charitable_ person and, _really_ , it was his fault Harry was in his current predicament so it was the least he could do.

It had nothing to do, he told himself, with how much he wanted to fall asleep like this every night, Harry’s soft lips pressing sweet kisses to his neck and jaw and cheeks.

*******

Niall woke up the next morning, Harry’s long body sprawled on top of his smaller frame. He combed his fingers through Harry’s wavy hair and sighed, remembering how nice it was to wake up next to someone else.

It _was_ strange, Niall thought, that although he and Harry didn’t have much in common, he felt a strong connection with the boy—he enjoyed Harry’s company, felt _happy_ and at ease, relaxed with him around—and wondered if Harry felt it too.

He continued to play with Harry’s hair, realising that this was the most peaceful he’d felt in a very long time.

After several minutes, Niall felt Harry shift on top of him. The brunette lifted his head from where it was rested, face nestled into Niall’s collarbone, and blushed the most beautiful shade of rosy pink.

“I’m sorry, Niall!” he said, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry!”

Niall gave a light chuckle, wondering if Harry remembered that he’d spent a solid ten minutes kissing Niall’s neck and face the night before, and said, “It’s okay, Harry.” He reached up and caressed the side of Harry’s flushed face with his hand, a soft smile and light pink blush on his own face. “It was a nice way to wake up,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, nuzzling his face against Niall’s hand.

*******

On the final night of Niall’s holiday, the blonde woke up, startled to hear the unmistakeable sound of _heartache_.

“Harry?” he whispered, sitting up to find Harry beside him in the bed, curled up in a ball, crying quietly. “Oh, Harry, love,” he said, seeing the tears that streaked the boy’s face glimmering in the silvery moonlight. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, lying back down and moving close to Harry, chest pressed to the boy’s back and arms wrapping around his waist. He hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder and whispered, “Talk to me, love. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry gave a shuddery sob and wiped at the tears on his face, attempting to brush them away with the back of his hand.

“I’m- I’m home-homesick,” stuttered Harry, hands covering his face now. “I’m homesick and”—Harry choked out a harsh sob—“and I miss my mummy.”

“Oh, love,” cooed Niall, feeling the terrible weight of guilt settle over him—knowing that Harry had only come to shore to meet _him_ , that it was _his_ fault—but, he knew, this wasn’t the time to focus on his own emotions. “I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.” He moved a hand under Harry’s tee, tracing soothing circles on his tummy. “I’m sorry, love.”

“I miss my mummy and I’m _scared_ ,” admitted Harry several minutes later.

“Why are you scared, love?” asked Niall quietly.

“What’s going to happen to me, Niall?” cried Harry, silent sobs racking his body. “Where am I going- where am I going to go when you- when you _leave_ me tomorrow?”

“When I- what?” said Niall, realising his mistake. “Oh, pet—”

“When you leave me tomorrow, Niall!” choked Harry. “I’m scared and I’ll be all alone and I- and I won’t… I won’t have a _friend_ anymore.”

“Harry, love,” said Niall—he’d been so nervous to invite Harry to move back to London with him, worried that Harry would reject him, that he hadn’t told Harry that he wanted him to come share his little flat in Kilburn—“I’d like- I’d like to take you back to London with me.” Harry inhaled sharply and Niall rushed to add, “I mean, if you’d like to go.”

Harry turned in Niall’s arms quickly, eyes glistening with tears, and wrapped his arms around Niall’s waist. “Yes, Niall,” he said, nuzzling his tear-stained face into Niall’s neck, “yes, please! I want to go with you!”


	11. dippy eggs and soldiers

Niall woke up the next morning, the sun fully risen in the sky and filtering through the thin curtains. He turned to Harry, who lay beside him on the bed, just as stunningly beautiful as he’d been the first morning on the beach and the two mornings after that.

He moved closer to Harry and rose up, propping himself up on one elbow, and reached out to brush Harry’s hair from his face.

“Wake up, love,” whispered Niall. “Harry,” he said, caressing Harry’s cheek and thumbing over his cheekbone, “wake up, Harry!”

“No, Niall,” snuffled Harry, not fully awake, eyes still closed.

“ _Yes_ , Harry,” teased Niall.

“No, Niall,” said Harry, lifting an arm from where it lay on the mattress and twining it around the back of Niall’s neck, eyes still closed. “ _Please_ ,” he whined, a little pout on his lips.

“Please what?” asked Niall, studying his beautiful face.

“Stay in bed with me,” said Harry, blinking his eyes open slowly, _so slowly_ , and looking at Niall with hazy green eyes. “We can just cuddle all day.”

“Oh, Harry,” groaned Niall. “I would _love_ to spend the day in bed cuddled up with you”— _God_ , thought Niall, that sounded like a dream—“but we’ve got a big day today.” Harry blinked at Niall again and Niall had to remind himself _why_ they couldn’t stay in bed all day. “We’ve got to get up and get ready to check out.” Harry pouted again. “No, none of that,” said Niall. “That’s not fair. We’re driving back to London today and I don’t fancy doing it in traffic.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, suddenly alert. “We’re going to London!” he said, as though he’d just remembered.

“Yeah,” chuckled Niall. “And we’ve got to get up.”

“Niall,” said Harry, arm dropping from around Niall’s neck, excitement plain on his face, “I’m getting a new home!”

“Yeah, love, you are,” agreed Niall, moving around and pushing himself up from the bed. “Now why don’t you pick out a pretty outfit while I shower, yeah, and then you can get ready while I pack up.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, sitting up and watching as Niall walked toward the bathroom. After a moment, he stood up and went to the wardrobe in which Niall had put their clothes. He looked through the items Niall had bought for him and settled on an outfit—black skinny jeans, a bright yellow button-down shirt with a big red and blue flower pattern, and his black boots—before laying it out on the bed. He smiled, pleased with his decision. That would look nice, he thought.

“Oi,” came Niall’s voice from behind him. “It’s your turn.” Harry turned to Niall and swallowed. He’d seen Niall without a shirt plenty of times in the last week but somehow it seemed different when it was only a bath towel covering his lower half and not a pair of swim shorts or proper bottoms of _some_ sort. “Bring your toothbrush and the toothpaste and, uh, and your clothes out when you’re done, yeah?”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, blushing a pale pink. He walked past Niall to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Harry showered, making sure to rinse all of the shampoo out of his hair, and towelled himself dry. He brushed his teeth just as Niall had taught him and then, holding his towel around his waist with one hand, went back into the bedroom, toothbrush and toothpaste and clothes clutched in his free hand.

He found Niall folding clothes and stacking them neatly in his suitcase. “Here,” he said, reaching out for the clothes and toiletries in Harry’s hand. He balled up Harry’s dirty pants and tee shirt and tucked them into a corner of the suitcase and then added the toothpaste and toothbrush to his toiletry bag.

“All right,” said Niall, “I’m going to bring the suitcase down to the car. Get dressed, okay, love?” Harry nodded. He picked up the suitcase and grabbed the car keys from the nightstand before walking to the door and opening it. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Niall had closed the door behind himself, Harry got dressed, pulling on his pants and jeans and shirt.  _This_ shirt had long sleeves and Harry found he didn’t really like the way the fabric felt around his wrists so he cuffed the sleeves up a few times, hoping they would stay in place.

Finally dressed, Harry found his comb on the nightstand and brushed out his hair. He heard the door open and turned from the mirror to see Niall, smiling because he always seemed to smile when he saw Niall.

Niall stopped in his tracks when he saw Harry, hand still on the doorknob behind him. “Christ, Harry,” said Niall, sounding almost awed, “you’re beautiful.”

Harry looked surprised for a few seconds, his smile turning shy and embarrassed and his cheeks a dusty pink. “R-really?” he asked bashfully.

“Yes, Harry. Just… yeah,” said Niall. “ _So_ beautiful.”

“Thank you, Niall,” said Harry, blush spreading down his neck.

“And that shirt looks much better on you than on the mannequin.”

Harry laughed.

“You ready for breakfast?” asked Niall and Harry nodded. “All right. Put your comb in my bag and let’s make sure we didn’t forget anything.” Niall held out his backpack, the zipper open to allow Harry to drop his comb in. They checked the room—looking in the wardrobe and the nightstands, under the bed, in the bathroom—to ensure they’d not left anything behind. Confident that they had all of their belongings, they stepped out into the small hallway and Niall locked the door behind them.

They made their way downstairs and to the small breakfast room, Niall ordering a full English breakfast and Harry dippy eggs and soldiers—he’d ordered it the first morning simply because he thought the name was silly and had been delighted when the eggs were served in sweet little egg cups that were made to look like mermaids.

As they ate, Niall noticed that Harry had grown quiet, not looking _nearly_ as excited about his dippy eggs and soldiers as he had the past two mornings.

“Harry?” asked Niall quietly, dipping his head down to try to catch Harry’s eyes, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry, not meeting Niall’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll miss it,” said Harry, sighing softly. “You know, the ocean.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “I reckon you will. But we can come back to visit.”

“Can we?” asked Harry, eyes finally meeting Niall’s, wide and hopeful.

“O’ course we can, love.” Niall finished his tea and smiled at Harry. “Finish up your dippy eggs, yeah.”

*******

“Faith,” said Niall to the innkeeper after returning the room key and thanking her for the stay, “is it okay if I leave me car here a bit longer? Harry and I are just going for a walk on the beach and—”

“Certainly, Niall,” she said. “It’s not a problem at all.” She gave him a knowing smile and said quietly, “Now go take your young man on a walk.”

“My- what?” asked Niall, looking at Faith with brows furrowed.

“Go on,” said Faith kindly, that knowing smile still on her face, and gestured toward Harry with a tilt of her head.

Niall felt a bit like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar—he supposed he probably looked like it too. “Yeah,” he admitted, blushing. “Thanks, Faith.”

“Goodbye, Niall.”

“Bye, Faith!” called Harry from near the front door, waving to the woman.

“Bye, Harry,” she called back.

Niall walked toward Harry, reaching out to take the hand Harry offered him.

“Can we go to the beach now, Niall?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, love,” answered Niall, “let’s go.” He gave Harry’s hand a tug, leading him out the front door and onto the pavement.

They walked down the street, still hand in hand, turning onto the main road and toward the zig-zaggy path to the beach. Harry stopped to take off his boots before they stepped into the sand.

“Ya ready?” asked Niall, squeezing Harry’s hand comfortingly.

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry. “We’ll come back, right?”

Niall nodded and smiled kindly. “Whenever we can.”

They walked across the beach, headed to the shore, and stopped at the water’s edge. Niall looked at Harry and felt a pang of sorrow; Harry’s lip was trembling, tears clinging to his lashes and slipping down his cheeks.

Wordlessly, Niall dropped Harry’s hand and slid his arm around Harry’s waist, drawing the boy into his side. He turned and tipped his head up to kiss Harry’s cheek and Harry leant into the kiss, resting his temple against Niall’s forehead, eyes closed.

“Oh, love,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. He turned to Harry completely, wrapping his other arm around the taller lad’s waist and pulling him into a hug.

Harry dropped his head down to Niall’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into Niall’s neck, and Niall could feel the damp of Harry’s tears.

They stood together for a bit longer, Niall’s arms tight around Harry, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the breakers and the seagulls cawing as they flew overhead.

“Niall,” said Harry eventually, pulling back and looking at Niall with teary eyes, “can we go home?”

“Yeah, Harry,” said Niall, his heart skipping a beat at the implication behind Harry’s words—that he already considered Niall’s home, already considered _Niall_ , to be his home—and slipped his hand down to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s. “Let’s go home.”

Harry and Niall left the beach, passing all of the families arriving for a day at the shore. Niall stopped to say goodbye to a few of the children he’d played with during his week in Bournemouth, holding Harry’s hand the whole time, before leading the way back to the guest house.

*******

“Niall,” asked Harry, not even five minutes after they’d climbed into Niall’s car and pulled out of the car park at the guest house, “how do you get money to pay for things?”

“Well, most people have jobs,” said Niall. “So they work and get paid for doing their job.”

“What’s your job, Niall?”

“Um, I work”—Niall wasn’t really sure the best way to explain his job as an audio engineer to Harry—“I help people make music.”

Harry turned, wide-eyed and excited, to look at Niall. “You make music?”

“Kind of,” said Niall, thinking it might be a bit easier to just show Harry what he did someday— _Take Your Mermaid to Work Day_ , he thought, amused with the idea—rather than try to explain it.

“I _love_ music!” said Harry happily. “My mum sings a lot. And I like to sing too.” He looked at Niall suspiciously, as though Niall’s answer would be a deciding factor in their relationship. “Do _you_ like to sing, Niall?”

“Yeah, reckon I do. I like to play the guitar and piano too,” answered Niall. “Do you- do you know what they are?”

“I know they’re musical instruments but I don’t know what they look like or anything,” said Harry.

“I’ll show you when we get home. Maybe I can teach you how to play them too.”

“Really?” asked Harry, sounding equally awed and excited.

“Course,” said Niall, shrugging. “That’s me other job. Teach people how to play piano and guitar.”

“Wow,” breathed Harry. He was quiet for a few minutes, apparently deep in thought. “Will I- will I get a job, Niall?”

Niall hadn’t thought about that. What kind of job would a mermaid get? He supposed Harry could teach swimming lessons at the leisure centre or something of that sort. Work as a lifeguard, maybe. “We’ll see. Maybe someday.”

“Okay, Niall.”

Just as Niall reached forward to turn up the stereo a bit, Harry asked, “Niall, what’s your home like?”

“It’s nice,” said Niall. “It’s small but it’s… cozy. There are big windows so the sun comes in and lights the whole place. I think- I _hope_ you’ll like it.”

“I already like it, Niall,” said Harry, sounding so _genuine_. “I know I will.”

Harry asked a million more questions about life in London—“Are there a lot of people in London? Where do they all come from? What kinds of jobs do they have? Where do you get food? Is there _ice cream_ in London? Does it snow in London? What do you do when you’re _not_ at work, Niall?”—and Niall answered them all as well as he could, patient and kind.  

And then, Harry asked, quietly, _nervously_ , “Do you- Niall, do you have _other_ friends in London?”

“Yeah, me best mates. Liam and Louis,” said Niall. “You’ll love ‘em. They’re a right laugh.”

“Will they- Do you think they’ll like me?” asked Harry, clearly self-conscious and a bit anxious.

“They’ll love you,” said Niall, so sure. “I think it’s impossible to _not_ like you.”

“But what if they _don't_?” asked Harry, clearly nervous and maybe a little insecure. “What if they- what if they, um, think I’m weird?”

Niall reached to Harry’s thigh and gave a squeeze. “You’re unique, Harry, not weird,” said Niall kindly. “They’ll love you.”

“But I don’t know _anything_ , Niall,” he said, still sounding worried. “What if they think I’m stupid because I don’t know how to drive a car or tie up my trainers?”

“First of all, you’re _not_ stupid. _Nobody_ will think you’re stupid,” said Niall, a bit stern. “The only reason you don’t know how to do that stuff is because you’ve never been taught. Didn’t need to know how to do up trainers when ya didn’t have feet, did ya?” Harry’s lips quirked up in a smile that he tried to hide from Niall, looking away from the blonde and out the window. “And I _know_ that if you ask Louis and Liam to teach you new things, they’ll help you.”

“Are you- are you going to tell them I’m a mermaid?”

“I don’t- I don’t… know,” said Niall a little hesitantly because he hadn’t really thought of that. “I reckon so. Unless we want to lie to them.”

“I don’t like lying,” said Harry, shaking his head vehemently. “It makes me feel sad.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “I don’t like lying either. ‘Specially to me best mates. I s’pose we’re telling them you’re a mermaid.”

“What if they don’t believe us?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” answered Niall truthfully.

The rest of the drive passed quickly, Niall telling stories about Liam and Louis—how he’d met Liam at the beginning of their first term, how he’d not really got on with Liam’s flatmate Louis at first because he was _a bit_ much but how the lad had grown on him as the year went on, how they’d ended up his best friends and become a little family when their own families were in Wolverhampton and Doncaster and Mullingar—and talking about his little neighbourhood in London and his flat, just next door to the best bakery in all of London, and his job where he got to work with lots of talented musicians.

Harry listened eagerly, excited to learn about Niall’s life and his new home and, he hoped, his new friends. He loved how happy Niall seemed when he talked about Liam and Louis, how obvious his love for his friends was, and hoped that someday Niall would seem that happy when he talked about him.

They arrived in London at just after two o’clock, Niall parking on the street in front of his building. Niall got out of the car and walked around to the boot, pulling the bags out, and then around to the passenger side to meet Harry. He handed Harry his backpack and locked the car.

“All right, love,” said Niall, “ya ready to go in?”

“Yes, please, Niall,” said Harry sweetly. “I know I’ll love it,” he added, and Niall wondered if Harry could tell how nervous he was that the brunette might _not_ like it.

Niall led Harry into the building and up two flights of stairs to the third and final floor, walking across the small corridor to a door marked 3C. He dropped his bags to the floor and pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“Okay, Harry,” said Niall, feeling more nervous now that Harry was seconds away from seeing his new home—had he left the flat a mess before he left?—“it’s not very much but it’s, uh, it’s your new home.”

Harry walked past Niall into the flat, eyes wide as he took in the small space, and Niall watched anxiously from the door.

Harry walked around, moving through the small kitchen area—he examined the stove and oven, opening the door to see inside and doing the same with the refrigerator, ran his hands across the counters and touched the spatulas and wooden spoons and whisks in the crocks by the stove, looked at the pots and pans hanging from the rack suspended above the sink, studied the glass-fronted cabinets filled with china and dry groceries and the shelf of cookery books—and to the small dining table that separated the kitchen from the rest of the flat.

He went to the living area—the sofa and two mismatched armchairs, all with throw blankets draped over the backs for when the flat got chilly in the winter; two end tables with table lamps; and the coffee table stacked high with magazines and books, all positioned to face away from the kitchen toward low bookshelves that ran the entire length of the wall and were filled with books and magazines and neatly organised records, a small record player and a television and DVD player on the top shelf, surrounded by potted plants and framed photos and knick-knacks and, behind the television, the large windows that faced out over the neighbourhood—and zig-zagged through the space, examining everything as he walked to the windows.

Harry went to the windows and pressed his face to the glass, looking out to see the buildings and cars and people walking their dogs on the streets below.

“Oh, Niall,” said Harry, turning to Niall with eyes glistening with tears, “I love it so much.”

It was amazing, thought Niall, that he’d lived in this flat for five years and had never really noticed all of the little things that made it _home_ —that made it _special_ —until now.

Maybe it was because Harry was seeing it _now_ , a lovely hodgepodged collection of everything that defined Niall as he had grown and changed over the past five years, a visible and tangible _description_ of Niall.

And Niall had never seen it as that, as a representation of his life, had never been removed enough to appreciate the changes as they happened, neither the physical changes—the flat bare when he’d first moved in with only a mattress, a sofa, and a television and then as furniture was added, as knick-knacks and pictures made their way onto the shelves and walls, as his book and record collections had grown—nor the emotional ones that followed the passing of five years—the gains and losses, the joy and happiness and pain and sorrow.

Harry wasn’t seeing the flat smeared and splattered and painted with the memories that Niall did. Harry was seeing it as a fresh start, as a new life, as Niall had seen it when he’d first moved to London five years earlier.

And maybe, Niall hoped, Harry could be his fresh start.

“Yeah?” asked Niall breathlessly. “You mean it? You- you like it?”

“Yes,” said Harry, walking toward the boy where he still stood in the open door. “But, um”—he looked around the flat behind him, eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Niall felt a little nervous again—“um, where do we _sleep_?”

Niall laughed, relieved, and dragged the bags from the hallway into the flat before closing the door. “Here’s the bathroom,” he said, opening the door that had been hidden from sight the whole time Niall had stood in the flat’s open door. He walked past the bathroom and pulled back the curtain that hung from tracks in the ceiling, revealing a separate area with a bed, wardrobe, and dresser. “And _this_ is where we sleep,” he said.

Harry’s eyes went wide, mouth dropping in surprise. “Wow, Niall!” he said, as though it was the most wonderful surprise he’d ever seen. “It’s like a secret room!”

Niall chuckled. “Yeah, I s’pose it is.”

*******

“But how does it _work_?” asked Harry quietly, looking at the record spinning on the record player, mesmerized by the rising and falling of the arm and the vinyl.

Niall wasn’t sure if Harry was expecting an answer so he decided to explain how record players worked some other time—he’d answered _a lot_ of questions today, so he figured it could be excused—and went back to his magazine.

There was a knock on the door and Harry looked up from the turntable. “Is that our _food_?” he asked Niall, sounding amazed.

“Yeah,” said Niall, laying his magazine on the sofa and standing up to answer the door.

“Can I do it?”

“Sure,” shrugged Niall, amused by Harry’s excitement at something as mundane as collecting takeaway from the delivery guy.

Harry ran forward and threw the door open, a wide grin on his face. “Hi!” he said to the delivery guy. “You have our pizza!”

“Uh, yeah,” the guy said to Harry. “I just need you to sign and—”

“Um,” said Harry, suddenly unsure, “Niall?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Niall, walking toward the door. “Thanks,” he said, taking the pizza and salad from the delivery guy. “Harry, love, hold these for a tick, yeah?”

Harry held the food and Niall reached forward to sign the receipt, handing the guy a five pound note. “Thanks, mate,” said Niall.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

“Thank you!” called Harry from behind Niall.

The kid waved over his shoulder and Niall closed the door. He took the food from Harry and placed it on the dining table.

“What did you have to sign?” asked Harry.

“The receipt for the order.” There was so much everyday _stuff_ that he knew that he just took for granted, he realised. “I used my bank card kind of money to pay when I ordered and then I had to sign to, like, authorize it and, uh, prove that I really made the order.” He sat down at the table and handed Harry a plate and fork.

“Oh,” said Harry, sitting down too and taking the plate and fork Niall offered him. “But then you gave him paper money too.”  

“That was a tip,” explained Niall, opening the pizza box and taking a slice. “Like, extra money to thank him for driving here and coming up to the third floor with our food.”

“That was nice of you, Niall,” said Harry sincerely. Niall shrugged and put a slice of pizza on Harry’s plate.

“Nah, just polite,” he said, taking a bite of his pizza and adding some salad to his plate.

The two lads ate, Harry telling Niall how much he loved his new home and what, _exactly_ , he loved about it—everything, it seemed—and how much he liked pizza—his new favourite food, “ _except ice cream, Niall_ ”—and how excited he was to be in London.

“Will you teach me how to use everything?” asked Harry, looking behind himself to the rest of the flat.

“We’ll start with the telly, watch a movie or something,” said Niall. “Sound good?”

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry. He bit his lip and looked up at Niall, suddenly blushing and shy. “Can we- can we _cuddle_ , Niall?”

“O’ course,” said Niall easily, surprised to find that he’d just assumed that, yeah, of course they would cuddle while they watched a movie.

Harry took another slice of pizza from the box and Niall said, “Think we’ll go round the neighbourhood tomorrow. Show you around and stuff.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry.

“We’ll stop in the grocery, pick up some food you don’t need to cook.”

“Like pizza?” asked Harry hopefully.

“Was thinking we’d start smaller,” answered Niall. “Cereal and sarnie stuff. Don’t need the oven or stove for any of that.”

“All right, Harry,” said Niall as they finished up eating, “help me clean up, yeah, and then we’ll watch a movie.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, following Niall to the kitchen with his dirty plate and fork.

Niall showed Harry how to wash the dishes and went to get the leftover pizza and salad while the brunette finished up the washing. He wrapped up the pizza and put the lid back on the salad, sticking everything in the refrigerator.

“Okay, love,” said Niall, wiping down the counter by the sink, “movie time."

“That’s not hard!” said Harry happily after Niall showed him how to use the television and DVD player twenty minutes later.

“No,” agreed Niall as they sat on the sofa, the beginning of _The Wizard of Oz_ playing on the television. They watched the movie in silence for a while, Harry’s excitement obvious when the movie changed from black and white to colour.

And then Harry cuddled up to Niall’s side, head rested on Niall’s shoulder and long legs pulled up onto the sofa, knees pressed against Niall’s thighs. Niall tilted his head down and placed it against the top of Harry’s, wrapping an arm around his waist. Harry gave a small contented sigh and turned his face into Niall’s neck, fluttering his eyelashes against the sensitive skin.

“I’m glad you don’t have to go to work tomorrow,” said Harry.

“Mmm,” hummed Niall in agreement, glad that he’d planned his holiday so he would have one free day before he returned to work after returning from Bournemouth.

“We can stay in bed and cuddle,” said Harry, sounding so sweet.

Niall’s heart skipped a few beats, his breath catching in his throat. _God_ , this boy, thought Niall. “Yeah,” said Niall, “we can.”

Harry turned back to the television, dropping a hand down to Niall’s lap; without a single thought, Niall moved his hand from where it was laid on the arm of the sofa and laced his fingers with Harry’s.

While Harry watched the movie, his long body enveloped by Niall’s smaller frame, Niall decided to text Liam and Louis the next day. He really wanted to introduce them to Harry, though he wasn’t sure what he should say—the truth _was_ a bit fantastic—but Harry wanted friends, wanted to feel accepted and liked, and Niall wanted to give that to Harry more than anything.

He told himself it had nothing to do with his overwhelmingly strong feelings for Harry, had nothing to do with his desire to introduce his best friends to his boyfriend because Harry _wasn’t_ his boyfriend. They’d not even known each other for a week, he reminded himself, but everything was so _easy_ with Harry, felt so natural and _honest_.

Niall had never really believed in love at first sight— _infatuation_ at first sight, maybe, but not _true love_ —but he’d never really believed in mermaids either.


	12. apricot brioche

Niall woke up the next morning, Harry cuddled up in Niall’s arms, his back pressed to Niall’s chest. Niall smoothed one hand up Harry’s soft tummy, slipping his fingers under Harry’s white tee and tracing them up and down the just-defined muscles. Harry hummed, still asleep, and turned his head. Softly, gently, with eyes closed, Niall dipped his head forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s cheek.

Harry was so soft, so warm, and Niall was kind of in love.

Harry hummed again and then, lips quirking into a sweet smile, said quietly, “Niall.”

“G’morning, love,” whispered Niall, unwilling to disturb the peacefulness that stilled the air around them. He continued to trace up and down Harry’s stomach lightly, pressing another kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“Mmm,” sighed Harry. “Good morning, Niall.” He wiggled back against Niall, pressing his long body even closer to Niall, and Niall had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm himself. “I’m cuddly.”

“Yeah, pet?” whispered Niall against Harry’s cheek.

“Yeah,” said Harry, a small smile still on his lips. “Wanna be cuddly all morning.”

Niall bit his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from his mouth at Harry’s statement. “Yeah, love. We’ll be cuddly.”

Eyes still closed, Harry turned in Niall’s arms, face a few inches from Niall’s on the pillow. Niall studied his sleepy face, hair messy and _beautiful_ , and felt his heart melt. Harry’s eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep, and he smiled at Niall. “You’re so pretty, Niall,” he said, voice sticky and sweet.

“Oh, _God_ , Harry,” breathed Niall, “ _you’re_ so beautiful.” He moved a hand from where they now rested at the small of Harry’s back to caress the side of Harry’s face, brushing his thumb over Harry’s full lips. “So so _so_ beautiful—”

“Shhh,” interrupted Harry, pressing his index finger to Niall’s lips.

Niall stopped talking and looked at Harry spread out beside him on the bed, looked at his thumb moving lightly over the plump flesh of Harry’s lips.

“Harry, love,” whispered Niall, feeling suddenly nervous, “can I- can I kiss you?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, please, Ni—”

And then Niall’s lips were on Harry’s, barely there, the ghost of a kiss against his lips, dewy and soft like the morning light outside the large windows of Niall’s flat. Niall wanted more, _craved_ more, but that would come later, he knew. He pulled back an inch and looked at Harry, eyes closed again and a blissed-out smile on his red lips.

“Thank you, Niall,” whispered Harry, pressing his face into Niall’s neck, breath tickling Niall’s throat.

Niall’s heart fluttered—Harry was thanking _him_ —and he felt a little lightheaded.

“Thank _you_ ,” he breathed out.

“Shhh,” Harry hushed against Niall’s neck. “Cuddly.”

*******

Harry and Niall got out of bed nearly an hour and a half later, matching smiles on their flushed pink faces. They’d done nothing more than cuddle but it had been exhilarating, intoxicating, each breathing the other in, their heartbeats synchronised as they lay together.

“What are we doing today, Niall?” asked Harry, standing next to Niall at the kitchen counter while the blonde made tea, green eyes so big and bright.

“Was thinking we’d go to Black Treacle for breakfast”—he looked at the clock on the microwave—“well, lunch by the time we leave, now. And then we’ll walk around a bit, you can see the neighbourhood.” He handed Harry a cup of tea and walked to the dining table. Harry followed and sat down at the chair opposite him. “And then we’ll stop at Sainsbury’s to get some groceries.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry agreeably, taking a sip of tea and looking at Niall.

They sat in the quiet of the flat for a few minutes, enjoying their tea and the sunlight that streamed through the large windows. Then, Niall said, “Would you, um, would you like to meet Liam and Louis tonight, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes grew wide, something that looked like nervous excitement crossing his face. “Um,” he said hesitantly, biting his lip and looking down at his tea, “um, will they be nice to me?”

“Oh, Harry,” said Niall, reaching across the table and taking Harry’s hand in his own, “don’t see why they wouldn’t be. Besides, Liam’s ‘bout the nicest person I’ve ever met, except you, maybe.”

Harry blushed and gave Niall a shy smile. “Um, okay.” He nodded. “Yes.”

“Brilliant,” said Niall, grinning at Harry, so fond and _in love_. “Now let me show you how to use me shower. It’s a bit different than the one at the guest house.”

Niall showed Harry the shower, making sure there was a bath towel on the towel bar before leaving the bathroom. He washed up the empty mugs and teapot, listening to Harry sing in the shower, a song that was becoming more familiar every time Harry sang it.

Cups drying in the drainboard, Niall walked to his bed and found his phone underneath a pillow. He unlocked the screen and opened his group chat, sending a message to Liam and Louis asking if they wanted to come over to hang out later—maybe have takeaway and watch a movie—and added that he’d met someone that he’d like them to meet.

He placed the phone on the nightstand and made the bed, untangling the sheet and pulling the duvet up. As he threw the pillows to the head of the bed, he heard footsteps behind him.

“All right, pet,” he said, turning to see Harry walking toward him with only a towel around his waist, his hair wet and limp around his face, “why don’t you get dressed and I’ll go take my shower. And then we’ll go get something to eat and I’ll show you round a bit.”

Harry nodded and Niall walked past him to the bathroom, resisting the urge to take Harry’s face in his hands and kiss him breathless.

Niall showered quickly, returning to find Harry mostly dressed—jeans on with the fly done up and matching socks on his feet—and watched as Harry focused intently on buttoning up a light blue shirt covered with little white stars, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Harry looked up after a moment and noticed Niall watching him. He blushed and said, sounding a little embarrassed but also a little proud, “I’m getting better. I did it right this time!” He stuck his arms out from his sides, revealing the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, ya did,” agreed Niall, smiling because the buttons were all in the correct buttonholes.

He moved to the wardrobe and took out a pair of jeans and a simple blue and white striped shirt.

“Niall!” said Harry excitedly as Niall pulled his shirt over his head. “Niall, we _match_!”

Niall turned to Harry and realised that they did sort of match. He chuckled. “I s’pose we do, yeah.”

Harry beamed from his seat on the bed and Niall smiled, moving to the nightstand to collect his wallet and phone. He looked at his phone and saw two messages, one from Liam and one from Louis, both saying they’d love to come over and offering to pick up takeaway on their way.

“Do ya want pizza for dinner again tonight, pet?” asked Niall, looking up from his phone to the brunette.

“Oooohh! Yes, please!” said Harry, nodding enthusiastically.

“All right,” said Niall, typing out a message to Liam and Louis. “Now put on your shoes and we’ll be off.”

A few minutes later, Niall and Harry walked down the pavement, Harry’s hand slipped into Niall’s. It was amazing, Niall wondered as he led Harry down the street toward the bakery, how perfectly Harry’s hand fit in his own.

They arrived at Black Treacle and entered the small shop, the cafe smelling like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Still holding hands, Niall led Harry to the counter. Harry looked in the pastry case, checking out the platters of pastries and breads and desserts.

“Everything’s so _pretty_ ,” sighed Harry, gazing at the sugared and glazed confections. “Can I have _that_ kind?” he asked, voice sweet and sticky, pressing his body to Niall’s side and pointing at an apricot brioche bun.

“O’ course, love,” said Niall, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “Anything else?”

“Maybe- maybe some more tea? Please?” he asked. “Like the kind at home?”

“Anything, pet,” said Niall, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. He turned to the girl at the counter and ordered—an apricot brioche bun, a ham and cheese croissant, and a pot of Earl Grey tea—and handed Harry a twenty pound note.

“I get to pay?” asked Harry, so excited.

“Yeah, pet,” said Niall, grinning at the boy. “I’ll go find us a table, okay?”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, so _pleased_ that Niall trusted him with such an important task. “Okay.”

Niall found a table easily and sat down, watching Harry at the counter as he paid for their pastries and tea, receiving change from the shop assistant and thanking the girl before he walked to Niall at the small table by the front window.

“Did ya have fun?” asked Niall, giving Harry a crooked smile when the boy sat down.

“Yes,” breathed Harry. “She said- she said that everything will be right out. Oh”—Harry placed the change on the table, a five pound note and a few coins—“here’s the leftover money.”

Niall slid the money across the table, opening his wallet to put the cash away, just as the waitress arrived at their table with a tray. She put the small teapot, two teacups and saucers, and a creamer with milk on the table and then set their pastries in front of them.

“It’s so pretty, Niall,” said Harry dreamily, looking at the beautiful pastries and mismatched china on the table. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Harry,” said Niall, smiling fondly. He took a bite of his croissant and poured tea into both teacups, watching as Harry took a bite of his own pastry.

“How do they _make_ this?” asked Harry through his bite of brioche, awed.

Niall shrugged because this was a question to which he _really_ didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know, love. Maybe we can look it up later.”

“Yes, please! Can we?” he asked, hopeful and eager.

“I think I’ve got a pastry book at home with pictures and everything,” said Niall. “We can read all about brioche when we get home.”

*******

“Niall,” said Harry, sounding awed, “there are so many kinds of food in here!” He looked around the supermarket. “How do you know what they all are?”

“I don’t, if I’m being honest,” said Niall, shrugging. “I know most of them though, just not familiar with the ingredients I never use.”

“What are we going to get?”

“Was thinking we’d get some things you don’t need to cook so you can have lunch and snacks while I’m at work. Maybe cereal and milk and some stuff for sarnies,” mused Niall, leading Harry to the deli. “Ham and cheese and bread. Lettuce and tomato. Maybe a few tins of tuna.”

“I like tuna,” said Harry.

“Good, then we’ll get some and I’ll show you how to make tuna salad,” said Niall, taking a ticket from the take-a-number dispenser. “And we’ll get some things I can cook for brekkie and supper too.”

They had their turn at the deli counter, Niall getting some ham and roast beef and cheese, before the blonde led Harry to the produce section. Niall let Harry pick a few different apples because he liked the pretty colours of the skin—“It’s like the sunset over the ocean!”—and some berries—“They look like pretty little pebbles, Niall!”—and then found some lettuce and a couple tomatoes. He put a head of broccoli and some green beans in the trolley too.

Harry and Niall made their way around the store, adding bread and cereal and milk, chicken thighs, eggs and bacon, and a few tins of tuna to the trolley. Harry asked questions about, it seemed to Niall, every other item on the shelves and in the refrigerated section.  

At the checkout, Niall paid with his bank card and handed Harry one of the shopping bags. “All right, pet,” he said, taking the receipt from the cashier and picking up the last two shopping bags. “Let’s get home so we can put these groceries away.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, adjusting the bag in this hand and following Niall to the door. “Are we seeing Liam and Louis today?” he asked as they stepped out onto the pavement.

“Yeah,” said Niall. “That’s all right, yeah?”

Harry bit his lip and nodded. “Yes, Niall. That will- It will be nice.”

“Yeah,” said Niall again. Then, after a pause, he looked at Harry. “It’ll be nice, Harry. I promise.” They stopped at the street corner, the crosswalk signal warning them not to walk, and Niall said kindly, sounding so _sure_ , “They’ll love you, Harry.”

Harry smiled nervously. “I hope so.” The signal changed, showing them it was safe to walk—Harry remembered that the little green walking figure had to be lit up, as Niall had told him back in Bournemouth—and walked with the blonde across the street.

They finished the short walk back to Niall’s flat, walking up the stairs into the building and arriving on the third floor.

“Finally!” Harry sighed dramatically, dropping his bag of groceries on the floor just inside the flat when Niall unlocked the door.

Niall rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face. “Oi! Good job I didn’t give you the bag with the eggs!”

“Sorry, Niall,” said Harry sheepishly. He picked up his bag and moved to the kitchen, placing the groceries on the counter.

“S’all right, pet,” said Niall, giving Harry a soft peck on the cheek.

Harry smiled and touched two fingers to the spot on his cheek where Niall had just kissed him, absentmindedly watching Niall unpack the shopping bags and sort the items into two separate piles.

“Right,” said Niall, calling Harry’s attention back to the task. “All of that”—he pointed to the items piled around the milk—“goes into the fridge. And all of this”—he pointed to the loaf of bread and the things arranged around it—“stay out.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, opening the refrigerator door and looking inside. “Um… where?”

“Here,” said Niall, coming behind the boy. “Hand me things and I’ll show you, yeah.”

Harry picked up the eggs and Niall stuck them on the bottom shelf, along with the chicken thighs and bacon. Lettuce, broccoli, and green beans went in the crisper drawer and the berries and milk went on the top shelf. The sandwich fillings went in the meat and cheese drawer.

“Okay,” said Harry after handing Niall the sliced meats and cheese, “that’s all of the fridgerator stuff.”

Niall smiled at Harry’s childlike mispronunciation. “Now the rest.” He placed a hand on Harry’s back and pushed him toward the other items on the counter. “One at a time again, yeah?”

Harry nodded and handed Niall the cereal, which went in a cabinet with the tins of tuna, joining some spices and tins of tea and other dry groceries. The bread stayed on the counter next to the sugar and flour canisters. Finally, the apples and tomatoes went in the fruit bowl.

“That’s it, pet,” said Niall.

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry. “Now what are we going to do?”

“What would you like to do?” asked Niall.

“I want to make the records play music again.” He turned to the record player on the shelves under the windows. “It sounds pretty.”

“Ya remember how it works?”

“Yes,” nodded Harry. As if to prove himself, he walked to the record player and lifted the needle, placing it on the outside edge of the vinyl. He turned it on and increased the volume until the music was pouring from the speakers, surrounding them like the sunlight through the windows.

He looked at Niall, who was watching him from where he now sat in one of the armchairs. Niall was _sure_ that he looked lovestruck— _hit by the thunderbolt_ , like Mario Puzo had written—but he couldn’t help it.

“This music is so lovely,” said Harry. “I like the singer’s voice. It’s so _nice_.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “They’re called The Maccabees. From London, actually.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Do you know them?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Lots o’ people in London, aren’t there?”

“I thought maybe you made music with them,” said Harry. “That would be nice.”

“It would be,” said Niall. “Talented lads.”

“Dance with me, Niall!” said Harry, moving in a way that didn’t even resemble any kind of dancing Niall had ever seen but Harry looked happy, so _blissful_.

“I can’t dance, love,” Niall told him. “I’ll just listen to the music and watch you.”

“Niall,” said Harry, stopping his movements and putting a hand on his hip, suddenly looking serious, “I just learnt to _walk_ a few days ago. Just dance with me.” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile and Niall nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Niall, standing and walking toward Harry. “Fair enough. Let’s dance.” He placed one hand at the small of Harry’s back and took one of Harry’s hands in the other. Harry inhaled sharply and bit his bottom lip, a flush staining his cheeks and a little thrill at their closeness spreading through his body to the tips of his fingers and toes. He took his free hand and placed it on Niall’s shoulder.

Niall swayed, not to the beat at all because it wasn’t _really_ slow-dancing music but that was okay because he had Harry in his arms again.  

*******

“When are Liam and Louis going to be here?” asked Harry. He was lying on the couch, head in Niall’s lap— _Wall Of Arms_ playing on the record player for the third time—while Niall flipped through the latest issue of _Guitarist_ magazine.

Niall looked at his phone. “‘Bout an hour.”

Harry sat up quickly, nearly knocking Niall’s magazine from his hands. “I’ve got to get ready!”

“What?” wondered Niall, blinking at Harry in mild confusion. “Ready for what?”

“Should I put on a different shirt? Maybe they won’t like this one!” said Harry, half to Niall and half to himself. “Maybe the one with the big pink birds would—”

“Harry, love,” interrupted Niall, “you look—”

“ _Niall_ ,” said Harry, “will they like the big pink birds better?”

“Harry, you look beautiful just like you are,” said Niall reassuringly. “If you’d feel better in the flamingo shirt, you can change. But you already look beautiful.”

“Are you- are you sure?” asked Harry, sagging back against the sofa a bit.

Niall nodded. “Yes, pet. You look lovely.”

Harry seemed to relax slightly, allowing Niall to take one of his hands and thumb over the knuckles soothingly.

“Should I change my hair?” he asked a moment later.

“I don’t...” Niall looked at Harry, brows wrinkled. “Change it _how_?”

“I could- Maybe I could braid it like my mum used to do sometimes.”

Niall shrugged. “If you want to, love.”

“Have you got- Do you have something to tie it up with?” asked Harry.

“Um, yeah,” said Niall, getting up to find an elastic band in a drawer in the kitchen and returning to the sofa to hand it to Harry.

“Okay,” said Harry, standing up and walking to the mirror that hung in the bedroom. He reappeared a few minutes later, long hair in a messy braid. “How’s this look?” he asked, turning to show Niall his braid. “No, don’t say. It looks terrible, I know!” He went back to the mirror and reappeared again, this time with his hair in a bun. “How’s _this_ look?”

Niall’s eyebrows rose because he’d never really been a big fan of man buns but he was suddenly unsure _why_ he’d never liked them before. “Harry, _fuck_ , you look so _so_ gorgeous.”

Harry inhaled and looked at Niall, so hopeful and eager to please, and whispered, “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Niall told him. “Now come here and let’s have a little cuddle before the lads get here.”


	13. pizza and skeptics

There was a knock on the door and Harry pushed himself out of Niall’s arms, turning away from the blonde to look at the door with anxious eyes.

“They’re here,” he said quietly, almost as though he’d met his fate and the Grim Reaper was there to collect him.

“Yeah,” said Niall, kissing Harry’s shoulder blade and standing up. “C’mon, love. Let’s go let them in.” He took Harry’s hand in his own and gave a light tug, encouraging the boy up from the sofa.

They crossed the room to the door and Niall looked at Harry, a gentle smile and a look—an unspoken _Are you_ _ready_? _—_ on his face.

Harry nodded and Niall reached for the knob, opening the door to find Liam and Louis standing in the hallway, Louis holding a pizza box that looked nearly half his size and Liam with a small salad and a takeaway container filled with garlic knots. Niall couldn’t help but laugh to himself, thinking how backwards the scene in front of him looked.

“Hey, mate,” said Liam kindly and Harry decided right away that he liked him, liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Good to see you!”

“Oi! Let me in!” said Louis, pushing past all three boys and heading to the kitchen.

“Don’t mind him,” said Liam, turning to look at Harry. “He’s a bit much sometimes.”

“Hey!” came Louis’ voice from behind them.

“You must be Harry,” Liam continued. “I’m Liam.” He shuffled the takeaway containers in his hands and reached out, offering a hand to the boy. “And _that’s_ Louis.”

“‘A bit much,’ am I, Liam?” said Louis huffily, walking back to the three lads by the door. “ _Excuse me_ for wanting to put down that giant pizza! Don’t know why you got the two little boxes and I got stuck with _that_!” He pointed back at the large pizza box that now lay on the dining table. “I hope you like pizza,” he added, turning to look at Harry accusingly, as if this whole thing was his fault, “because _Liam_ here insisted we get the ‘party size.’”

Harry looked a little overwhelmed, not certain how to respond to Louis _at all_. He glanced nervously at Niall and then back to Louis.

“Lou,” said Niall, taking pity on Harry, “this is Harry. Harry, this is Louis. And yes,” he added, pointedly turning to Louis, “he _is_ a bit much.”

Louis scowled at Niall and then turned to Harry, smiling pleasantly now. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he said, extending a hand to the lad. “You meet Nialler on holiday?”

Harry nodded and shook Louis’ hand, feeling a bit like Louis had given him whiplash with his seeming mood changes. “Yeah,” he said. “At the beach.”

“Speaking of,” said Louis, looking back at Niall smugly, “how _was_ that lovely little holiday Li and I planned for you?”

“It was _lovely_ ,” said Niall, rolling his eyes at Louis’ smugness and moving to the kitchen. He pulled four plates from the cabinet and a few forks and knives from the silverware drawer. “Lots of sun.” He threw a stack of napkins on the table and set the plates and flatware down next to the boxes of food.

“Glad to see you aren’t too badly burnt,” said Louis. “You remembered your sunblock this time.”

“How was the room?” asked Liam, picking up a plate and opening the pizza box.

“It was really nice,” said Niall. “The whole place was. Really relaxing.” He took a plate and loaded it up with a few slices of pizza, some salad, and a couple garlic knots. “The innkeepers were so nice and the room was great. Good breakfast too.”

“Good,” said Liam. “You needed it, mate.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, placing his filled plate on the counter and setting about making up a plate for Harry. “Thank you. It was good to get away. The beach was gorgeous—”

“Award-winning,” Louis reminded him through a mouthful of garlic knots.

“—and there were a bunch of good restaurants and shops near the guest house.”

“Did you go to that food festival?” asked Liam, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table.

“Yeah,” said Niall, giving Harry his plate and gesturing for him to sit down. “Met Jamie Oliver! Even got his autograph.”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” teased Louis, smiling at Niall from where he now sat next to Liam.

“Ah, piss off,” said Niall, smiling back at his friend, no force behind his words. He took the final of the four seats at the dining table and said, realising that Harry had barely said two words, “I met Harry on the beach. Out for a morning walk and found him along the way. We spent the day together and got on brilliantly.”

“Sweet. What a coincidence, meeting someone else from London on holiday!” said Liam, smiling kindly. “I guess it’s only a few hours away though, so maybe not _that_ much of a coincidence,” he mused.

“Where do you live?” asked Louis.

“Um,” said Harry nervously, glancing at Niall uncertainly, looking for some sort of confirmation, “here?”

“You live in Kilburn?” asked Louis, sounding a little surprised. “Now _that’s_ a coincidence, Li.”

“Um, no,” said Niall, noticing Harry’s uncertainty and the little bit of anxiety that crossed his face. “Harry’s living _here_. With me.”

Liam and Louis looked at the blonde, matching looks of confusion on their faces.

“What?” asked Louis after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah,” said Liam, agreeing with Louis’ confusion. “What?”

“I found Harry on the beach one morning,” Niall rushed to explain. “He was passed out and naked so I tried to wake him up because, like, I didn’t- I didn’t want him to still be lying there naked when the kids started to arrive. Thought he’d been drugged or something. When he finally woke up, he was, like, frantic. Started to freak out and I didn’t know what to do. So I brought him back to the guest house, let him sleep for a while. And then when he woke up, we started talking, yeah, and I found out that—”

“I’m a mermaid,” interrupted Harry. Liam and Louis looked at Harry like he was crazy before turning to Niall.

“Y-eah,” Niall agreed hesitantly, shrugging a shoulder.

Niall glanced at Harry and saw that the boy looked on the verge of crying, his bottom lip trembling and eyes glossy with tears; Harry had only wanted to make friends, had only wanted Liam and Louis to like and accept him.

“Oh, Harry,” said Niall, pushing his chair back and stretching out an arm toward the boy. “Come here, love.”

The brunette got up and moved to Niall, sitting on the smaller lad’s lap. He turned, tucking his face into Niall’s neck and wrapping his arms around the blonde’s shoulders, and Niall held Harry to his body. Liam and Louis watched, shocked and speechless at the sight in front of them.

“Harry’s my friend,” said Niall, making eye contact with both lads. “Please just- Please let us explain. _Please_.”

Liam and Louis looked at each other, as though silently communicating, and then Liam looked back to Niall. “O-okay,” he said tentatively, nodding.

“Lou?” asked Niall, needing to know that they would both listen.

The smaller lad sighed and then said, “Yeah. Okay, mate.”

“Harry, do you want me to tell the story?” Niall asked the boy, pulling back a bit to look down at Harry’s tear-streaked face. “Or do you want to tell it?”

“You can- you can start, Niall,” he said quietly.

“Okay, pet,” said Niall, kissing Harry’s temple softly. He looked over Harry’s bun at Louis and Liam. “When Harry woke up in me room at the guest house, he was a bit better. Talking and everything. Seemed to know where he was and all that. So I asked him where he was from, if he needed help finding his friends or family. And he, um, he told me no. Said his mum lives in Bournemouth but he couldn’t see her anymore. So I asked why not. Said his mum lives in the sea because they’re mermaids but he lost his _cohuleen druith_ , uh”—he saw Louis and Liam’s looks that showed they didn’t understand his last few words—“little magic seacap. It’s Gaelic. Means ‘little magic seacap’ and it’s, like, a cap that mermaids have that make it so they can, ya know, live underwater.”

“They’re very pretty,” said Harry, leaning back a bit from Niall’s neck so his voice wasn’t too muffled, “with feathers on them, like little crowns.”

“And Harry… lost his,” said Louis, sounding like he didn’t believe a word he was hearing.

“Yes,” said Niall.

“Um, why did he- why did you take it off?” Liam asked the boy, curious; Niall hoped that meant that Liam was at least being open minded and _trying_ to believe Harry and Niall’s story.

“I wanted- I wanted to meet Niall,” said Harry quietly. He sat up and wiped his eyes before turning back to face the lads. “I saw him on the beach when I was watching the humans. I thought he was so pretty and he was _so_ nice. He played with the children on the beach and helped them build sandcastles! And he had a happy laugh.”

“So you came to shore to meet Niall,” said Louis, voice still laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” said Harry. “I wanted to make a friend. I don’t- I didn’t have any friends in the ocean. The merrow-men don’t like me and some of the mermaids, um, they sort of… shun me.”

“Why?” asked Liam kindly.

“Um, because I’m only- I’m only half merrow. My mum came to land when she was young and fell in love with a human man. She got pregnant but she was- she was scared to have me on land in case I was… like her so she went back to the sea. And I was born in the ocean.”

Louis looked skeptical and Liam uncertain, so Niall said, “In Ireland, people- um, some families say they have merrow ancestors. Me dad used to tell Greg and me that our grandmother’s family could trace back to a baby born to a mermaid and a, um, a human man.”

Liam and Louis looked at Niall like he’d grown two heads but he pressed on. “But Harry lost his seacap. Fell asleep on the beach and it washed out to sea.”

“So… you’re stuck here?” asked Liam, sounding like he maybe felt bad for the boy.

“Yes,” said Harry, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout, and he looked like he might start to cry again.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “So I brought Harry back to London with me because he didn’t- he didn’t have a place to stay.” He looked at Harry, who was rubbing his eyes, and added, “And I like him. He’s my friend and he’s nice and funny and sweet. So just… give him a chance? Please? I know this all- I know it sounds crazy. _Please_?”

“Yeah, um,” said Liam, nodding a bit, “yeah. Okay.” He smiled at Harry.

“You ate a lot of pizza,” said Louis, looking at Harry, the non sequitur throwing everyone off a bit.

Harry nodded and blushed. “I like pizza. It’s my second favourite food I’ve tried so far.”

“What’s your favourite?” asked Louis.

“Ice cream. The, uh, the raspberry kind.”

“Good choice. I’m a chocolate chip cookie dough man meself,” said Louis. He narrowed his eyes. “I was inclined to dislike you because Liam made me carry that bloody huge pizza here but you ate a lot of it.” He paused for a minute and then said, a crooked smile on his face, “What I’m trying to say is, uh, yeah, I’ll give you a chance.”

“Got a funny way of saying it,” said Liam, sounding exasperated but rolling his eyes good-naturedly at his friend.

Louis gave Liam the middle finger and stood from the table, scraping his plate into the bin and putting it in the sink. “Now come on, you lot, we’ve got a footie match to watch.”

*******

Harry and Niall walked to the door behind Louis and Liam, Harry’s hand clasped in Niall’s as it had been almost the whole night.

“G’night, lads,” said Liam, smiling at Harry and Niall. “See you this weekend, right?”

“Friday night, yeah?” said Niall and Harry nodded beside him, a sleepy grin on his face.

“Yeah,” agreed Louis, looking at Harry. “Now get him to bed or in his bathtub or wherever it is he sleeps. Bloody lightweight.”

Niall looked at Harry, tipsy from the beer he’d shared with Niall while they watched the football game, his face flushed pink and eyes hazy from alcohol. He tugged Harry to his body, ignoring how the boy curled into his side with his face nuzzled into Niall’s neck, arms around Niall’s waist.

“Good night,” he said, waving to his friends and closing the door once they started down the stairway.

“Good night, Niall,” whispered Harry against Niall’s neck.

“All right, love.” Niall chuckled. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Niall?” asked Harry. “Do you”—he hiccuped—“did you mean that before?”

“Mean what?” asked Niall, feeling a shiver run down his spine from the sensation of Harry’s lips against his ticklish throat.

“Am I really your friend?” he asked.

“Yeah, you’re really my, _ohhh_ , you’re really my friend,” said Niall. “God, _fuck_ , Harry, stop nibblin’ me earlobe!” exclaimed Niall. “You’re making me”—he shook his head, clearing his thoughts and attempting to calm himself—“You’re really my friend.”

Harry released Niall’s earlobe from between his nibbling teeth and pulled back a bit, looking at Niall with bright eyes and the most beautiful smile Niall had ever seen, dimples on display. He wrapped his arms around Niall’s neck, hugging the blonde tight and nuzzling his smooth cheek against Niall’s stubble-covered one.

“I’m so happy, Niall,” said Harry quietly, slurring a little drunkenly. “It’s so nice. I’ve never had a friend before and you’re so nice and pretty and you kiss me sometimes. I’ve always wanted a friend.”

Niall melted a bit, turning his head to kiss Harry’s cheek because, yeah, he kissed Harry sometimes and he couldn’t really help it.

“Okay, love,” he whispered after a few moments passed, still wrapped up in each other’s arms. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry agreeably as Niall led him to the bathroom. “Can I have cuddles in bed?”

“Christ, yes,” said Niall. “You can have anything you want.”

“Just want cuddles,” he said, taking his toothbrush from Niall, toothpaste already squeezed out on the bristles for him. “And maybe kisses.”

“Yeah,” said Niall, putting toothpaste on his own toothbrush and brushing his teeth.

They made their way to the bedroom a few minutes later, stripping down to their pants and climbing into the bed. Harry cuddled into Niall’s side and placed soft kisses to his freckled neck. Niall tugged him in closer, wrapping his arms around the taller lad, and listened to Harry’s whispers between kisses, telling Niall how happy he was that he’d met Niall and he had _friends_ now and he loved pizza and Niall’s freckles and his new home.

Long after Harry fell asleep, his mouth pressed to Niall’s neck in a sloppy kiss and breath hot and wet against Niall’s skin, Niall lay in bed, deep in thought.

He’d done this before, he realised. This had _happened_ before.

It was déjà vu, like reliving an old memory from four years before. He’d fallen asleep in this bed with a beautiful, friendless, lonely boy curled into his side, kissing his neck and telling him how happy he was to have friends, to have _Niall_.

Niall closed his eyes and told himself this could be different. _Harry_ was different, the whole situation was different, and Niall was different than he’d been four years earlier.

He turned to Harry and pressed a kiss to the top of the boy’s head, letting his lips linger for a few moments.


	14. like a river flows

Niall woke up early the next morning, the flat still dark in the predawn light. He sat up and looked at Harry beside him, as beautiful as he always was in the morning, lips parted and face gentle. He leant down and kissed the boy’s cheek, brushing away hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear, gentle and soft so not to wake him.

It was a bit mad, he thought, how fast and hard he had fallen for this boy. It scared him, frightened at the prospect of heartbreak and pain, but he couldn’t help falling in love with Harry. He didn’t know if it was his trusting innocence or his genuine kindness or his eager hopefulness even when faced with the daunting reality of being lost and friendless. Maybe it was that all of that was combined into one person.

He kissed Harry again, mouth a bit closer to Harry’s lips. He didn’t want to go to work, didn’t want to get out of bed; he wanted to stay in bed with Harry, put on a record and wake him up to drink tea in bed and hold his hand and give him kisses.

He finally forced himself out of bed to get ready—pulling out his clothes for the day and putting on the kettle, showering and dressing and making himself breakfast and tea—before slipping back behind the bedroom curtain.

Harry lay asleep on the bed, the sunrise casting a pale yellow glow over the room and illuminating the sleeping boy’s face and body, the thin summer blankets wrapped around his hips leaving his torso bare.

Niall’s breath hitched, taking in the beauty in his bed. “ _Christ_ ,” he whispered, stunned. He moved to the wardrobe, slipping his wallet into his back pocket, and walked to the nightstand, unplugging his phone from the charging cable and pocketing that as well.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, caressing Harry’s face tenderly. “Harry,” he said quietly. “Harry, love, wake up for a second.” Harry turned his face into Niall’s hand, rubbing his cheek against the palm. “Pet, wake up.”

“Mmmm, Niall,” hummed Harry. “Kisses, Niall,” he said sweetly and Niall wasn’t sure if Harry was still asleep or not. “ _Please_ ,” he whined.

“Yeah, love,” said Niall. He leant down and kissed Harry’s forehead. “Wake up for a minute, pet. Want to say bye before I leave for work.”

“ _No_ , Niall,” said Harry, an edge of pleading in his voice. “More kisses.”

Niall kissed Harry’s forehead again, one eyelid and then the other, his nose, his cheek. “Wake up, Harry.”

“Mouth kisses, _please_ ,” whined Harry, eyes still closed. Niall thought he was awake now.

Niall bit his lip, heart rate speeding up a bit, and he felt a little dizzy. “One mouth kiss, pet. And then I need to say bye.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry.

Niall leant down again, placing his lips to Harry’s in a soft kiss, eyes closing because this felt like heaven and he _always_ wanted to feel this way. He felt one of Harry’s long arms wrap around his shoulders and neck, holding him close, and Niall pressed his lips a bit more firmly to Harry’s.

 _God_ , he wanted to ravage this beautiful boy, leave him panting against his lips and whimpering his name.

Instead, he pulled back. “Harry, love”—he brushed his knuckles along the side of Harry’s flushed face—“look at me, pet.” Harry’s eyes opened slowly, gazing up at Niall as though in awe of the blonde lad. “I’ve got to leave for work, love. I’ll be home at about 5:30, okay?” Harry nodded. “You remember how to use the kettle, yeah? Like I showed you yesterday? You can make some tea.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry.

“And I put some cereal in a bowl so you can just pour some milk in and have some brekkie, okay?”

“Okay, Niall,” agreed Harry.

“All right, love,” said Niall, thumbing over Harry’s lips for a few seconds before standing up from the bed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Niall,” whined Harry, reaching his arms up for a hug.

“Needy,” chuckled Niall—though he really kind of loved that it seemed Harry couldn’t get enough of him—and leant down into the boy’s outstretched arms, kissing Harry’s cheek again before pulling away.

“Goodbye, Niall,” came Harry’s sleepy voice as Niall walked from the bed.

“Bye, pet.”

Harry heard the door close and the lock click, falling back to sleep in a few short moments.

*******

Harry woke up a few hours later, pale yellow sun brightening the flat a bit. He rubbed his eyes and looked to Niall’s side of the bed, empty now because Niall had left for work, he remembered.

But Niall had _kissed_ him on the _lips_ again. His tummy felt a little fluttery as he thought about the boy’s lips on his own, soft and smooth and _so lovely_. It was nice, he thought. _Niall_ was nice.

He loved waking up next to Niall and watching television with Niall, loved listening to records and drinking tea with Niall. He loved eating pizza and ice cream with Niall and holding Niall’s hand. He loved Niall’s freckles and his perfect smile that made Harry feel a little melty inside. He loved Niall’s laugh because it sounded so _happy_.

Really, Harry knew, he just loved Niall. He hoped that Niall loved him too.

Niall _did_ kiss him on the mouth _twice_ and that had to count for something, Harry supposed. And Niall called him _love_ and _pet_ and kissed his forehead and he’d danced with him when they were listening to records and cuddled him a lot.

So maybe, just _maybe_ , Niall did love him too. He wasn’t really sure if that was something you just asked someone though—“Do you love me?”—and he didn’t have much experience with love, other than his love for his mother but that was _different_.

After a full fifteen minutes spent thinking about Niall, Harry got out of bed. He turned on the kettle like Niall had showed him and found the teapot, already set up with the tea Harry liked in the infuser, on the counter. Harry thought the teapot was very pretty; it was a soft yellow, like the sunshine and Niall. He found a teacup in the cabinet—also yellow to match the pretty teapot—and put some milk and sugar in.

Kettle heating up, Harry poured some milk into the cereal Niall had left in a bowl for him. He wasn’t really sure how _much_ milk to put in so he poured enough that the cereal was almost all covered. Maybe he could drink the milk when the cereal was all gone and it would taste yummy.

He found a spoon and ate his cereal—he didn’t think a fork would work because the milk would just go through the spaces, he reasoned—and took a few bites. It had little dried blueberries in it and he thought it tasted very nice.

When the kettle boiled, he poured it into the teapot, careful not to spill on the counter. He remembered that Niall said the tea had to sit for a while so it could steep, so he decided to put on some music while he waited.

He turned on the turntable, the sound of The Maccabees filling the small flat again, and went back to his tea.

When his tea was gone and he’d listened to both sides of the record, Harry decided to take a shower and get dressed in some proper clothes; he’d spent the whole morning dancing around the flat in just his pants.

He picked out an outfit—the shirt with big pink birds that Niall had called flamingos and his dark blue skinny jeans—because he wanted to look nice for Niall when he got home from work. He showered and brushed his teeth.

Harry’s day passed nicely. He listened to some different records, finding that he liked all of the records he played, and danced around. He didn’t think he was dancing _correctly_ but he didn’t really care. It had made Niall smile—that rhymed and Harry giggled—so it was okay that it maybe wasn’t right.

Harry wanted to learn the words to some of the songs so he could sing along. He found that one band called Vampire Weekend—that was a funny name, he thought, and he wondered why they were called that—had a paper inside the record jacket with the lyrics to the songs printed on it.

He could read well enough because his mother had taught him when they saw signs and boats, had taught him the alphabet and what sounds each letter made, and could spell out lots of words. He didn’t think he could _write_ though; maybe Niall could help him learn.

Harry made a sandwich at about one o’clock, spreading mayonnaise on the bread and filling it with ham and cheese and lettuce, just like Niall had described.

He went back to his liner notes after eating and cleaning up from lunch, trying to learn the words to “Obvious Bicycle” so he could sing it for Niall when he got home.

He couldn’t _wait_ for Niall to get home.

*******

Niall walked the last few blocks from the underground, heading home from a successful day at the studio. He and some other recording engineers had met with alt-J, a band that Niall was excited to work with, about the studio set-up for their newest album; they hoped to have it completed in time to release the following summer.

As he got closer to his flat, though, his thoughts changed from alt-J to Harry. He’d missed Harry all day, from the moment he’d walked away from the bed early that morning. His thoughts had been distracted from Harry a bit during his meetings and discussions but his desire to get home and see Harry hadn’t wavered.

He wondered if he should talk to Liam—not Louis because Louis had still seemed skeptical but it seemed that Liam had accepted Harry’s story a bit more readily—about his deepening feelings for Harry.

He knew he was in love, there was no doubt about that, but he didn’t know what to _do_ or _think_ about it. He’d just got over having his heart broken and was scared to have it happen again. What if, he worried, Harry had only agreed to come back to London with him because he was scared and lost and had nowhere else to go? What if Harry’s feelings weren’t the same as his? What if Harry really only wanted a friend?

And then as Niall climbed the stairs to his flat, his thoughts skipped to feelings of guilt, reminded of all of the times in the last few days Harry had said he’d wanted friends and had come to shore to meet him. It was _his_ fault Harry was here, his fault Harry could never return to his home, could never see his mother again.

It was with an overwhelming feeling of guilt that Niall put his key into the lock and unlocked the door.

The door was barely opened when Harry ran to the door like a puppy, greeting Niall with an armful of mermaid, flinging his arms around Niall’s neck and kissing him on the forehead.

“Niall! You’re home!” he said eagerly, pulling back to look at Niall.

Niall wrapped his arms around Harry, thumbing at the small of his back. “Hi, pet,” he said, pleased at Harry’s excitement to see him. “Have a good day?”

The boy smiled wide, his dimples deep, and nodded. “Yes! I missed you,” he admitted, “but I learnt some new songs! Come here!” He tugged Niall into the flat, headed toward the record player by the windows. “Listen!” he said happily. “This is my favourite song! It sounds like the sea.” He placed the needle at the outermost edge of the vinyl and turned it on, Vampire Weekend’s “Obvious Bicycle” playing through the speakers.

Harry began to sing, voice so different from Ezra’s but _beautiful_ too, deeper and raspier. “ _Morning’s come, you watch the red sun rise. The LED still flickers in your eyes_.”

Niall watched as Harry swayed to the music, singing the lyrics perfectly, and felt his heartbeat quicken. The song ended and, without thinking, without even realising what he was doing, Niall walked toward Harry and wrapped one arm around Harry’s waist. He slid his other hand to caress the side of Harry’s face and leant in, pressing his lips to Harry’s in a sweet kiss. Harry gasped in surprise and moved his hands to Niall’s shoulders, pulling the blonde closer to his body, pliant in Niall’s grasp. Niall licked at Harry’s lips and took his plush bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the flesh. Harry mimicked his actions, smoothing his tongue along Niall’s top lip and nipping at it lightly.

Niall pulled back after a few moments, resting his forehead against Harry’s. The taller lad’s eyes were closed and he was panting slightly. Niall wasn’t sure what to say, if he should apologize or not.

And then Harry said quietly, barely more than a whisper, “I’m sorry I’m a bad kisser.” He opened his eyes and looked at Niall. “I’ve never”—his face flushed a deeper shade of pink—“Nobody’s ever kissed me like _that_ before.”

Niall blinked. “Harry,” he said tentatively as a thought that made him equally nervous and excited occurred to him, “was I your first- was that your first kiss? In bed yesterday, when I kissed you on the lips?” He leant back to look at Harry properly, tilting the boy’s head to look at him, fingers under his chin. “Was that your first kiss?”

Harry blushed and ducked his face down, pressing it to Niall’s neck.

“Don’t be- don’t be embarrassed, Harry,” said Niall kindly, rubbing the boy’s back soothingly. “Was that your first kiss?”

“Yes,” said Harry, voice muffled. He nodded against Niall’s shoulder. “I _know_ I’m not good. I did it wrong and now you won’t love me.”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat. “What?” he asked, stunned.

“ _Stop_ , Niall,” said Harry miserably, pushing himself out of Niall’s arms and moving to the sofa. He dropped down, lying on his side and curling into a ball, turning to face the back of the sofa. “I made a mistake.”

“Harry,” began Niall, walking toward the sofa, “what do you mean? You didn’t- you didn’t make a mistake.”

“Ni-all,” pleaded Harry. “Please stop! I’m sorry.” Niall couldn’t tell but he thought Harry was crying. “I did it all wrong and- and now you won’t love me.” He sounded crushed, heartbroken, and Niall didn’t know why.

“Harry, what do you- Why do you think you made a mistake?” he asked. He sat down on the sofa by Harry’s thighs and dropped a hand to Harry’s hip. “Pet, do you _want_ me to love you?” He held his breath, not sure what to expect but knowing what he wanted.

Harry didn’t say anything, the sound of his soft crying a sharp contrast to the calm of the song playing on the turntable. After a few moments, he turned onto his back, hands covering his face. “Yes,” he said, so quiet Niall almost didn’t hear him.

“Yes?” asked Niall, heart skipping a beat or two.

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry again. “I want you to love me because you’re so pretty and nice and your smile is so lovely and- and I love your freckles and your teapot and you make me happy and you don’t make me feel silly or stupid and I just—”

“Oh, Harry,” breathed Niall, “come here, pet.”

“What?” Harry moved his hands from his face, cheeks streaked with tears.

“Come here, love. Let me cuddle you,” said Niall and Harry sat up slowly, looking at Niall timidly, a bit like a frightened kitten. Niall moved into the space where Harry had been lying and leant back against the sofa. “I don’t know if you love me, if that’s what- if that’s what you you were trying to say,” said Niall. “But, _fuck_ , I hope it is because… _Jesus_ , Harry. I think I’ve- I’ve loved you since the day I found you on the beach. You kissed my freckles—”

“Niall!” squealed Harry, throwing himself into Niall’s arms. He nuzzled his cheek against Niall’s, smooth skin against rough stubble. “Do you- do you _really_ love me?” he asked breathlessly.

“ _Fuck_. Yes,” said Niall quietly. “Yeah, I do.” He chuckled, shocked by his own admission—hadn’t he been planning to talk to Liam about his feelings for Harry not thirty minutes before?—and whispered, “I love you, Harry.”

Harry pulled back to look at Niall, breath hitching in his throat and a shy little blissful smile on his face. He giggled and blushed.

“God, Harry, you’re beautiful,” said Niall, words quiet in Harry’s ear. “So bloody beautiful.”


	15. equestrian events

“Harry,” said Niall, walking from the bathroom into the main area of the flat, “are you almost ready, pet?”

“Yes, Niall,” responded Harry, sliding open the bedroom curtain and appearing from the bedroom. “I found this shirt in the wardrobe. Is it, um, is it okay if I wear it?”

“Oh,” said Niall, looking toward Harry. The lad was wearing an orange short-sleeved button-down shirt with four rows of black-and-white zigzagging lines that ran horizontally around the chest area of the shirt; Niall seemed to remember being given the shirt as a gift but had never worn it because it reminded him a bit too much of Charlie Brown. “Yeah, o’ course. It looks much better on you than it did on me anyway.”

“Does it- Do I look nice?” Harry asked the blonde, spinning around as if to model the outfit for Niall.

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall. “You _always_ look nice. So beautiful, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, Niall,” said Harry, blushing the faintest shade of pink. Niall wondered if there would ever be a time that Harry _wouldn't_ blush when Niall gave him a compliment.

Niall smiled. “Now come on, love. Liam’s ordered pizza.”

“Oh no,” said Harry. He stopped dead in his tracks on his way to the door, his smile fading and eyes widening a bit. “Louis doesn’t have to carry it again, does he? Like the other day?”

“No,” laughed Niall, remembering Louis’ irritation at being made to carry the huge pizza to their third-floor apartment. “The delivery guy is bringing it to their flat. If Louis’s a dickhead tonight, it’ll be for some other reason.”

“Like, um,” began Harry nervously, “like he doesn’t like me?”

“No,” said Niall, taking Harry’s hand and leading him out the door, “like the Rovers lost their last match or he found out his editor’s going to make him cover the equestrian events at the Olympics.”

Harry nodded even though Niall suspected Harry didn’t really know what any of that meant. Niall locked the door and led Harry down the stairs and outside, explaining who the Rovers were and what equestrian events were and what the Olympics were.

They walked to the nearest underground station, Harry eagerly grabbing the Oyster card from Niall and touching it to the electronic reader—Niall had taken Harry for a ride on the Underground the night before, showing him how to use the Oyster card and get on and off of the train—before handing it back to Niall so he could pass the barrier. Niall tapped the card to the reader and walked through the turnstile.

“Mind the gap, Niall!” said Harry when the doors opened and they stepped onto their train. They found seats in the middle of the car and sat down, Harry watching all of the other people on the train with wide eyes.

“Niall?” he said after a few minutes of people-watching, moving his wide-eyed gaze from their fellow passengers to Niall. “I don’t think, um, I don’t think Liam and Louis want to be my friends.”

“Harry, remember how I asked Louis and Liam to give you a chance the other night?” asked Niall gently, taking Harry’s hand.

Harry nodded. “Yes, Niall.”

“Maybe you should give them a chance too, yeah?” he said gently. “Maybe they’ll surprise you, ya know.”

“Do you- do you really think so, Niall?”

“I do, yeah. Louis can be a prick sometimes but he’s actually a sweetheart,” Niall told him. “Ya should see him with his sisters and his little brother and his mum. He’s not as tough as he pretends to be.”

The train stopped at their station and they disembarked, walking up the stairs to the street and toward Liam and Louis’ apartment.

They arrived at Liam and Louis’ building a few minutes later. Niall led Harry to the lift, pressing the call button and offering a brief explanation of what elevators were and how they worked while they waited for the doors to open. When it finally arrived, they stepped into the lift and Niall told Harry to press the button for the ninth floor.

“Whoa,” said Harry when the lift began its ascent. “That made my tummy feel funny.”

“Yeah. I don’t really like lifts,” said Niall. “Freaks me out a bit, being in a small metal box. But I don’t fancy walking up eight flights of stairs.”

The lift stopped at the ninth floor and Harry and Niall stepped out when the doors opened. They walked to a door marked 928 and Niall rang the bell.

“Oi! ’M coming!” came Louis’ voice, loud and clear from the other side of the door. It flew open a few seconds later, Louis standing in the doorway. “Oh, you’re not the pizza guy,” he said.

“No,” agreed Niall, walking past Louis and into the flat.

“Hi, Louis,” said Harry, hesitating at the threshold. “Can I- can I come in?” he asked, a little nervous.

“Of course you can, Harry,” said Louis, blinking at the boy as if it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever been asked. “Do you think we’re going to make you eat your pizza in the hall?” He gestured for Harry to enter. “Come on, lad. Oh”—Louis looked over Harry’s shoulder toward the lift—“here comes pizza. Hey, mate,” he greeted the delivery guy.

Harry stepped past Louis and into the flat.

“Hey, Harry.” Harry turned to his left and saw Liam leaning against the kitchen counter. He handed Niall a bottle of beer.

“Hi, Liam,” said Harry. He stepped into the room and walked to Niall, who stretched out an arm to the taller lad. Harry moved closer and allowed Niall to wrap his arm around Harry’s waist, a content little smile on his face.

“Would you like a beer, Harry? Or are you just going to share with Niall again?”

“Um, thank you but I think- I think I’ll just share with Niall,” said Harry. “Beer makes my brain a little fuzzy.”

“Yeah, it’ll do that,” said Liam, smiling brightly. His eyes crinkled at the corners and Harry thought again that he liked Liam. He seemed warm and kind.

“Oi! Pizza!” called Louis from the narrow hallway. The three lads left the kitchen and followed Louis into the small dining room. They filled plates with pizza, Niall giving Harry an extra slice, and headed into the living room.

“ _Captain America_ okay with everyone?” asked Liam as they all got situated on the sofa and armchair.

“Ugh,” groaned Louis, balancing his plate on his knees and taking a large bite of pepperoni pizza. “You’re lucky I love you, Liam.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” said Liam sarcastically, though he smiled at the boy in the armchair.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Louis, throwing a balled-up napkin at Liam. “Just start the movie.”

“Yes, your Highness,” said Liam, rolling his eyes and pressing play.

The movie played, the four lads eating their pizza and drinking beer. Harry took sips of Niall’s once in a while, smirking at the blonde like he was doing something naughty each time he took the bottle.

“Don’t drink too much,” Niall whispered into Harry’s ear, “or your head will get all swimmy.”

“Might be fun to see what happens when he gets proper pissed, though,” said Louis—clearly Niall’s whisper hadn’t been as quiet as he’d thought it had been—with a wicked grin on his face. “We’re going out tomorrow night, yeah? Like old times?”

Niall knew that tone—the tone that left no room for argument—and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good lad,” said Louis happily. “I say we get Harry pissed—”

“We’re not getting Harry drunk if he doesn’t want to drink, Lou,” said Liam sternly. “And you’re talking through the movie.”

“Oh, piss off, Li,” said Louis. “You’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but Harry—”

“Harry’s too busy stealing sips off Niall’s beer like a naughty child to pay attention to the movie.”

Harry blushed.

“Louis, you’re embarrassing him,” said Liam, who seemed to have given up on his movie in favour of watching the situation in front of him.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Harry. It’s sweet,” said Louis kindly. “Niall clearly likes it. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile this much since before—”

“Louis,” Liam cut in warningly.

“—in a long time,” said Louis, glad that Liam had caught him before he’d slipped up and said _since before Zayn left_ ; Niall seemed happy and he didn’t want to ruin that by bringing up his ex. And he didn’t know how much Harry knew about Zayn, _if_ he knew about Zayn, and knew it wasn’t his place to drag up the subject.

“It seems like you make Niall happy, Harry,” said Liam gently. “And that’s really important to us.”

Harry blushed again.

They fell back to the quiet of the room, the only sounds coming from the movie that still played on the television.

“Harry doesn’t really seem like a fitting name for a mermaid,” said Louis suddenly, looking across the room to the lad. Harry wasn’t sure if he was taking the piss or not but remembered what Niall had said about giving the lads a chance.

“Why, um, why not?” asked Harry tentatively.

“Should be something like Triton, shouldn’t it?” said Louis.

Harry snorted out a little laugh and covered his mouth with both hands, giggling through his fingers. “Nobody names their babies things like _Triton_ anymore,” he said after a few moments. “ _Way_ too old-fashioned.”

Niall smiled and bit back a laugh, thinking that _Harry_ was hardly a modern name but supposed that it was when you compared it to Triton.

“Well, I’m going to call you Hazza, Prince of the Mermaids,” Louis told him. “Give you a proper mermaid name.”

Harry looked at Niall, unsure what to say. Niall gave him a reassuring little smile and nod. “O-okay, Louis,” he said, nodding to the boy.

“Maybe leave off the whole ‘Prince of the Mermaids’ bit,” suggested Liam. “Might sound a little ridiculous if you say it every time you say Harry’s name.”

“Too right you are, Li,” agreed Louis. “Just Hazza then.”

*******

Harry and Niall lay in their bed a few hours later, Harry tucked into Niall’s side, lips ghosting kisses over Niall’s jaw.

“Niall?” said Harry quietly, the long fingers of one hand lacing into Niall’s hand.

“Mmm?” Niall hummed, turning sleepily to look at the boy beside him.

“Do I really make you happy?” he asked. “Like Liam said?”

“Yeah, Harry,” said Niall. “Yeah, you do.”

“But you’re _always_ happy,” said Harry after a pause, sounding a little skeptical. “You were happy before you found me on the beach. I saw you.”

Niall sighed. “No, I’m not _always_ \- I was a bit depressed and lonely before I found you.”

“Why?” asked Harry sweetly, playing with Niall’s fingers. “Didn’t you have friends?”

“Yeah, I had Liam and Louis, o’ course,” agreed Niall. “But I had a boyfriend too. His name was Zayn and I loved him very much and- and he loved me too. We were together for nearly four years. And then he just… he fell out of love with me, I guess.”

Harry pouted, eyes wide as he watched Niall in the darkened room. He wasn’t crying but Harry thought he sounded _different_ somehow. Tight, maybe, like his voice wasn’t working quite right.

“He left me one night,” Niall continued. “I woke up in the morning and all of his things were gone. And there was a note- He left a note on the pillow that said, ‘I want to love you but I can’t.’ And that- that was it.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He was sad for Niall—sad that somebody had hurt Niall so much, had told him they couldn’t love him—and he was a little angry—Niall was so nice and lovely and someone had been mean to him and had broken his heart and that was _wrong_ —and there was a third emotion that Harry couldn’t really identify because he’d never experienced jealousy before.

He nuzzled his face into Niall’s neck, brushing his nose over the soft skin, and kissed Niall’s freckles one by one, soft and sweet and tender.

Harry hoped Niall knew he would never hurt him like that.


	16. all's divine in desire

Harry woke up before Niall, the hazy late August morning sun painting the flat a pale yellow. It was Saturday and that meant that Niall didn’t have to go to work. He thought he would make some tea and toast with butter and jam and bring Niall breakfast in bed.

He kissed Niall on the nose and climbed out of the bed. Tiptoeing and careful to miss the creaky floorboard, Harry made his way to the kitchen. He set about making a pot of tea and lots of toast, spreading strawberry jam on some and apricot preserves on the others; Niall liked strawberry best, and Harry liked it too, but apricot was his favourite. He rinsed some blueberries and strawberries, trimming the stems off the top of the strawberries and cutting them in quarters, and put them in a bowl.

Friday night was always fun because Harry and Niall went to Liam and Louis’ for movies and takeaway—Harry found that he loved pizza but Chinese and Indian were really quite yummy as well—but Saturdays were Harry’s favourite day of the week, he thought while he put milk and sugar in the pretty yellow teacups and waited for the kettle, because he got to spend the _whole_ day with Niall.

Sometimes they just spent the day inside, cuddling and watching television and listening to records—rainy days were the best for that, Harry found—and sometimes they went for walks around London, usually staying in Kilburn but sometimes going farther. Harry liked to think he was quite good with the Underground now; he knew which stops he needed to get off at to go to different places and he’d learnt how to read the map and even had his _own_ Oyster card for when he wanted to make trips out of their neighbourhood on Niall’s work days.

And on Saturday nights, Harry and Niall always went out to the pub with Liam and Louis. Harry could drink a whole beer now but it still made him giggly and his head feel swimmy so he didn’t drink more than that, even when Louis took the mickey and tried to get him to drink a second beer or, even worse, take a shot of something awful; he’d done it once and it made him sick in the toilets so he hadn’t tried it again.

Sundays were almost as nice, thought Harry, because they often went for pastries at Black Treacle in the morning and sometimes Liam and Louis would meet them there for croissant sandwiches or cinnamon buns; sometimes the lads just stopped by their flat for a game of FIFA or a bit of a hang out. But Sundays meant the weekend was almost over and Niall had to go back to work the next morning.

Tea and toast finally ready, Harry was pulled out of his thoughts. He put the food on the little breakfast tray and carried it to the bedroom.

“Niall,” he said softly, “Niall! Kitten! Wake up!”

“No, Harry,” said Niall, throwing an arm over his face.

“Ni-all!” singsonged Harry. “Don’t be a grumpy kitty. I made toast and tea!”

Niall moved his arm from his face and opened his eyes a sliver. “With strawberry jam?”

“Of course with strawberry jam, silly!”

“Ah, twisted me arm,” said Niall, a small sleepy smile quirking his lips at the corners. He sat up and looked at Harry. “G’morning, love.”

“Good morning, Niall,” said Harry. “Ooh”—he put the tray down on the bed and turned from Niall, walking back into the main area of the flat—“I forgot something.”

Obscured from view by the bedroom curtain, Niall couldn’t see what Harry was doing until he heard Young The Giant playing from the record player. A moment later, Harry reappeared, brilliant smile on his face, dimples deep.

“You said- you told me one day that you wanted to wake up and- and make tea and play a record and- and wake _me_ up so we could cuddle,” Harry rushed to explain. “So”—he shrugged—“that’s what I did!”

Niall felt his heart swell in his chest. “Oh, _fuck_ , Harry,” he said on a breath, “come here. Come here, love.” Harry sat on the bed and moved to Niall, careful of the breakfast tray. “Christ, Harry, you’re perfect,” he whispered, reaching forward to take Harry’s face in his hands. He leant forward, pressing a desperate, almost harsh kiss to Harry’s mouth. It turned soft and gentle after just a few seconds, chaste and sweet, before Harry pulled away.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, a blush and shy smile on his pretty face. “I just want you to be happy. Now… eat your toast before it turns all soggy.”

Niall watched as Harry picked up a piece of toast with apricot preserves, his face etched with adoration, and took a piece of toast for himself.

They finished their breakfast, putting the tray on the floor beside the bed and cuddling together. Lying on their sides facing each other, they passed soft kisses back and forth, Niall’s fingers tangled in Harry’s long hair and Harry’s hands weaved around Niall’s neck, feet and legs intertwined beneath the thin summer blanket.

Showered and dressed, Harry and Niall went for a walk after a quick lunch of sandwiches and crisps. They stopped at Niall’s favourite record shop on Kilburn High Street and looked through the racks for a while. Niall bought Harry a beat-up old copy of _Yellow Submarine_ —he already had a copy at home but he didn’t tell Harry that—because he was so excited about the album art.

“It’s my very first _record_ , Niall!” said Harry happily as they left the shop, headed back up the High Street. “I’m going to listen to it as soon as we get home!”

Harry did just as promised as soon as they arrived home, switching out Young The Giant for the Beatles and dancing around as Ringo sang about life aboard a yellow submarine.

At about seven o’clock, Harry and Niall left the flat again, this time headed for their usual Saturday night pub. They found Louis and Liam already there, sat at a booth with hamburgers and chips in front of them.

“Hey, Haz! Nialler,” greeted Louis.

“Hey, mate,” Niall said to Louis, waving at Liam in greeting. “I’m going to order for Harry and me. I’ll be right back.”

“Fish and chips, please, Niall,” said Harry.

“O’ course, love.”

“Hi, Louis,” said Harry, turning to his friends and dropping down onto the bench next to Liam. “Hi, Li.”

“Hi, Harry,” said Liam, smiling his crinkly smile at Harry. “Have a nice day?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Niall bought me my first record today!”

“Yeah?” asked Louis, looking at the happy boy across the table. “What’d you get?”

“It’s called _Yellow Submarine_!” said Harry. “Do you know it?”

“Think I might’ve heard of it before,” said Louis, smirking.  

“It’s so wonderful! And the pictures on the front are so _funny_.”

Niall returned, two pints of Guinness in his hands, and sat down next to Louis. “Food’ll be right out, love,” he said, sliding a beer across the table to Harry.

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry.

“I finally listened to _On My One_ ,” admitted Liam.

“Finally!” said Niall, exasperated. “Only two bloody months late!”

“Yeah, well, the kid’s a right twat,” said Liam.

“O’ course. Goes without saying,” agreed Niall. “What’d ya think of the album though?”

“Good. Brilliant. Didn’t want to like it as much as I did.”

The waitress appeared at their table, dropping Harry and Niall’s food off, and Niall poured a bit of ketchup on his burger and chips. “Production did a bang up job,” he said.

“Where did he record?” asked Liam. “Wish I could’ve been around just to see his setup and that.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” said Louis, rolling his eyes. “Eat fast, Haz.” Harry looked up at Louis from his fish and chips. “I need you to come play pool with me so we can get away from these two prats before they have a proper wank over Jake Bugg.”

Harry did as Louis said and ate quickly. He loved that Niall was passionate about his job, about music in general, but he didn’t know that much about the technical details of Liam and Niall’s work; he’d quickly learnt that Louis didn’t know much about it either and was glad to have someone to escape with when they started up with their shop talk.

When Harry’s food was finished, Louis pushed Niall out of the booth so he could climb out and follow Harry to the pool table.

“Niall,” said Liam, “Niall.”

“What?” asked Niall, sitting back down and looking across the table to Liam.

“I was asking what you thought about ‘Ain’t No Rhyme’ but I think”—Liam looked over the back of the booth seat behind him and to where Louis and Harry stood at the pool table—“Jesus, you’re so gone on him, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, not critical or teasing.

Niall exhaled. “Is it, um, is it that obvious?”

“Painfully,” said Liam, giving a little chuckle. “But, like, it’s sweet. I mean, he’s obviously just as gone on you. Looks at you like you hung the moon, mate.”

“Yeah?” asked Niall, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate for confirmation.

“Yeah,” said Liam kindly, nodding.

“I’m kind of- I’m kind of, uh,” stuttered Niall. Liam looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m in love with him, Li.”

Liam tried his hardest not to roll his eyes—did Niall really think he was _that_ oblivious?—and said instead, trying to make it sound like a question, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, I want him to be my boyfriend,” said Niall quietly, as though it was a secret confession that nobody else would ever figure out. “I just really- I want to spend my life with him and, like, grow old with him. _Fuck_. He’s amazing, Li.”

“Have you told him that?” asked Liam, as straightforward and honest as always.

“No,” admitted Niall. “Not, um, not all of it.”

“Maybe you should.”

*******

Harry and Niall walked down the relatively quiet street—it was late and their neighbourhood was mostly residential—holding hands.

“ _Then we can pull it apart and in time you see it’s going better than ever, it’s going better than ever,_ ” sang Harry quietly, swinging Niall’s hand playfully. “ _And I will love you better, I will love you better, I will love you better, I will love you better, I will love you better._ ”

Niall walked along with Harry, floating away on his voice, and sang the final verse with him. “ _And I thought of you, it was crystal clear. I could warn myself or be new, dear._ ”

Niall felt a pang in his chest, the force of the lyrics hitting him hard. Stopping, Harry’s hand still in his, Niall pulled Harry into his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m in love with you, Harry,” he whispered against Harry’s lips, eyes closed and forehead pressed to Harry’s. “I had a bad go of it before, being in love. Got me heart broken. But I’m- I’m in love with you, pet.”

“I’m in love with you too, Niall! I’ve never been in love with anyone before, just my mum,” said Harry shyly. “But I know I’m in love with you because my heart feels like it’s exploding when I’m with you. Like shooting stars! It’s _so_ lovely, Niall.”

Niall opened his eyes and found Harry’s jade green eyes already open. He leant back enough to take in all of Harry’s face. “I’m scared, Harry,” he whispered. “I’m scared to be in love again.”

“Shhh,” said Harry, pressing a finger to Niall’s lips. He slid his hand up to caress the side of Niall’s face and Niall felt his breath catch in his chest. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll love you better than he did, Niall. I want you to always be happy.”

“Harry, love,” said Niall, tipping his forehead against Harry’s again, “I- I want you to always be in my life. I think about- I think about the future and- and… I _know_ that I want you in it. I want you here. With me.”

Harry clasped his hands around the back of Niall’s neck and blinked his wide eyes at Niall. “Will it make you happy if I’m here with you?” he asked seriously.

“ _Yes_ , Harry. _God_ ,” exhaled Niall. “I want you to be my boyfriend. Will you”—he pulled back to look at Harry again—“will you be my boyfriend? Please?”

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry, a wide grin on his face. “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend! I want to always hold your hand and make you toast and kiss your freckles and- and I _love_ your freckles, Niall!”

Niall chuckled. “Silly boy.”

“Just… let’s _always_ make each other happy,” said Harry, eyes bright as he looked at Niall, filled with so much love and adoration that Niall felt a little overwhelmed and _dizzy_.

Niall leant forward and captured Harry’s lips in a kiss, passionate and thorough but pure and slow, Harry’s body against his.

*******

Harry woke up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. It was still early, he knew—he could tell because the flat was still only bathed in that pale pink light of late summer dawn—but it felt like there were butterflies fluttering around in his tummy and he couldn’t fall back asleep.

He rolled onto his side and looked at Niall, still asleep beside him, and smiled.

Niall was his boyfriend now. Niall had told him that he wanted him to always be in his life and that he wanted Harry to be in his future too and Harry couldn’t have been any happier because he wanted to see Niall every day for the rest of his life too; he wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and laugh at funny stories together and listen to Niall talk about what happened at work and eat pizza and sandwiches. He wanted to do _everything_ with Niall because Niall made everything wonderful.

Harry didn’t know too much about romantic relationships; relationships between merrow-men and mermaids were almost always simply for procreation and not love or romance—one reason it wasn’t uncommon for mermaids to seek relationships with human men—and he’d never seen his parents together, had never even _met_ his father.

He’d watched plenty of daytime talk shows while Niall was at work over the last month, though, and he’d learnt that being open and honest with your partner were two of the most important parts of a healthy, successful relationship; he’d also learnt that _equality_ was important, splitting household tasks and other responsibilities evenly. He knew that he was still learning how to do a lot of things, and Niall was being very patient and kind while he taught Harry new things—he’d learnt how to wash the laundry and fold everything up neatly a few days earlier—but he wanted everything to be _even_.

He thought that maybe he should try to get a job somewhere; he wasn’t really sure what he could do because, so far, his best skills were playing records and making toast, though he supposed he was all right at cleaning up the flat and doing the grocery shopping too.

He scooted closer to Niall, tangling his long legs up with Niall’s under the blankets. He draped an arm over Niall’s waist and leant in even closer, kissing Niall on the nose.

“G’morning, pet,” said Niall, drowsy, eyes still closed. He smiled. “Mouth kisses now, please?” Niall didn’t even care if he sounded desperate, he realised.

Without a word, Harry pressed his lips to Niall’s, so sweet and tender, and hummed happily into the kiss.

If just the feel of Harry’s soft plush lips against his own hadn’t been enough to encourage him to deepen the kiss, then Harry’s content little hum would have been; Niall moaned and lifted a hand up, cupping the back of Harry’s neck, and deepened the kiss.

The kiss became more intense, Niall’s fingers threading in Harry’s long hair. He licked at the seam of Harry’s lips and Harry parted them slightly, allowing Niall’s tongue into his mouth. Niall massaged his tongue against Harry’s, tasting him, senses overwhelmed with the smell and taste and feel of _Harry_.

“Mmmm,” Harry groaned and shifted closer, rutting against Niall’s thigh. He pressed his lips to Niall’s more firmly, deep and passionate and almost _harsh_ , and Niall was surprised by the rush of _possessiveness_ that seemed to flow through Harry as he tightened his grip on Niall’s waist.

After several minutes and with kisses becoming softer and sweeter and less rushed, Harry pulled away from Niall, propping himself up on his elbow to hover over the blonde. “Good morning, Niall,” said Harry sweetly.

Niall opened his eyes, hazy with lust, and looked at Harry.

“Harry, love,” asked Niall, voice deep and a little raspy, “do mermaids- um, do merrows, uh, make love?”

Harry looked at Niall, brows knit slightly. “I don’t- I don’t know,” he said, sounding unsure. “What does that… mean?”

Niall’s eyes widened. Did he need to have _that_ conversation with Harry? Harry was innocent, Niall knew that, but he’d just thought that he’d never had a kiss or a boyfriend, not that he didn’t know what _making love_ was at all.

“Um, do they have, like,” began Niall, trying to think of how to explain it and changing his question. “How are babies made?”

Harry looked at Niall, blush painting his cheeks a brilliant red. “Oh. Merrow-men, um, they put- they have”—Harry lowered his voice to a near-whisper—“they have _sex_ with the mermaids and they put their, um, their _penis_ into the mermaids. ”

Niall sighed inwardly. At least Harry knew what sex was and he didn’t have to explain _the birds and the bees_.

“Have you ever, uh, have you ever had sex?” Niall asked. He was sure the answer was no but he wanted to hear it from Harry.

“Oh, no,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Um, I don’t really like mermaids _like that_ and merrow-men aren’t very—”

“Pleasant to look at,” said Niall, remembering Harry’s words from the day they met.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. “And there isn’t really- there’s not really a way for two merrow-men to… do that. And anyway, why- why would they?” asked Harry, sounding a little confused. “A merrow-man can’t- he can’t have babies.”

“Well,” said Niall, because apparently sex was just a biological necessity for merrows, not a pleasurable experience, “for humans, it’s kind of like- it’s sort of like kissing and hugging and, uh, and cuddling only… even more.”

“Is it?” asked Harry, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, it’s, um, it’s more… emotional,” Niall told Harry. “Like, that’s why it’s called ‘making love.’ Because when you do it with someone you love, it’s… special.”

“Niall?” said Harry a few moments later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

“Um, Niall,” said Harry shyly, blush a dusty pink on his cheeks now. “Can we, um, can we do that sometime? Make love?”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah, Harry. _God_ , yes.” Harry smiled, sweet and bashful, and Niall whispered, “Come back to me, pet.” Niall stretched out his arms to the brunette.

Harry lay back down in Niall’s arms, face nuzzled against Niall’s shoulder. “Niall?”

“Yes, pet?”

“Can we get gooey buns and tea later?” he whispered. “And hold hands?”

Niall’s eyes dropped closed and a lazy grin spread on his face. “Anything, pet. Anything you want,” he said before dozing back to sleep, an arm around Harry’s waist.

Harry lay beside Niall, thinking about _making love_. He wasn’t quite sure how it would work because neither of them had _lady_ parts but he figured Niall must know how it worked. He  trusted Niall and he _loved_ Niall and Niall said it was special so he wanted to try it and see.

And Niall had said that it was like kissing and hugging and cuddling only _even more_ and he loved kissing and hugging and cuddling with Niall so it would probably be pretty wonderful when they did it. He fell asleep listening to Niall’s steady breathing and dreaming of gooey buns and kisses and holding Niall’s hand.

When Niall woke up an hour later, he found his boyfriend—his _boyfriend_ —tucked into his side, beautiful face nestled in the hollow of his shoulder and neck. He kissed the boy’s forehead and moved him gently.

Niall climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, using the toilet before returning to the bedroom. He found his phone on the nightstand and texted Liam and Louis, telling them that he and Harry were going to Black Treacle for breakfast and suggesting they meet them there. He moved to the bed and laid a hand on Harry’s bare ankle, sticking out from under the blanket, and slowly slid it up to the boy’s knee.         

“Harry,” he said quietly, “Harry, love! Wake up.”

Harry turned to Niall, eyes still closed but a grin on his lips. “Niall,” he said, dreamy and soft.

“Wake up, pet! Gooey buns and tea.”

“And holding hands,” he said, smile getting even bigger.

“And holding hands,” agreed Niall. “Now get up, lazy bones! Liam and Louis are going to meet us there, I think.”

Harry’s eyes opened and Niall couldn’t miss the excitement on his face. “Can we tell them we’re boyfriends now?”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall, chuckling because Harry sounded so _happy_ , “we can tell them we’re boyfriends.”

He stood up and moved to the wardrobe, pulling out clothes for both Harry and himself, and threw them onto the bed. He stripped off his tee and pants, ready to change into clean pants—they’d shower when they got home, he decided, because gooey buns sounded delicious and he was starving—when he heard Harry ask from the bed, “How does it work, Niall?”

“How does what work?” asked Niall, looking to where Harry was now sitting up on the bed, watching Niall with a curious expression.

“Um, how does”—he lowered his voice—“ _sex_ work? With two boys?”

“Oh,” said Niall. “Well, when you get… _aroused_ , your cock, um, _penis_ gets hard. And it’s- it’s like with merrow-men and mermaids except you put it in the, uh, the _other_ hole.” He wasn’t sure how to explain it without sounding crude.

“The _other_ ho—,” started Harry, cutting off his question as understanding dawned on him. “Oh.”

“Y-eah,” said Niall.

“Do I- Do I put my… cock into you or do you—”

“We can try it both ways,” said Niall. “See which way you like it better.”

“Which way do _you_ like it, Niall?”

“However you like it, pet,” said Niall, smiling kindly. “Just want you to be comfortable and- and enjoy it.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry as he stood up and, following Niall’s lead, got dressed in the clothes the blonde had picked out for him.

Fifteen minutes later, Niall and Harry stepped out of the flat. Niall locked the door and Harry slipped his hand into Niall’s, giving the shorter lad a crooked grin.

They set off, walking to the bakery hand-in-hand, Harry talking happily about how Louis said he would teach him how to use a computer and maybe get him a library card.

At Black Treacle, Niall ordered a small basket of gooey buns and a pot of Earl Grey tea, returning to the table Harry had picked out near the front window.

“Here come the lads!” said Harry, watching as Liam and Louis crossed the street and entered the cafe. “Just in time for gooey buns!” he called out to the boys as they made their way to the small table.

“Gooey buns, eh?” said Louis, taking the seat across from Niall. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll go order us some tea, Lou,” said Liam, ruffling the boy’s already ruffled hair and heading to the counter.

The waitress brought their basket of pastries to the table, along with the full tea setting and two pots of tea—Earl Grey for Harry and Niall and Yorkshire Red for Liam and Louis—and Liam sat down in the last chair.

“So, good morning, lads,” said Liam.

“Good morning, Li,” said Harry, taking a bite of gooey bun. “Guess what?” he asked eagerly, eyes wide.

“What?” asked Liam, taking a gooey bun from the basket.

“Niall and I are _boyfriends_ now!” he exclaimed.

“That’s great, Harry!” said Liam, smiling his crinkly-eyed smile that made Harry so happy. “You two are very sweet together.”

“Fucking _finally_ ,” said Louis, stirring milk and sugar into his tea and looking at the two lads across the table. He grinned and Harry positively _beamed_.


	17. firsts

“This is _so_ exciting, Louis!” said Harry happily, unlocking the door to the flat and walking in, Louis following close behind. “Now I can read _all_ of the cookery books at the library!”

“You know there are a lot of different kinds of books at the library, right, Haz?” asked Louis, amused. “Not just cookery books? Doesn’t Nialler have enough of them hanging round here?”

“Yes, he has loads of cookery books. But I’ve read them all,” said Harry, leading his friend to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” he asked, turning on the kettle. “It’s a grumpy day,” he said, obviously referring to the torrential downpour they’d just escaped, running down the streets of Kilburn under umbrellas. “We don’t have Yorkshire but we have English Breakfast in this pretty tin. Niall says it’s better than Yorkshire tea because Yorkshire tea tastes like piss.”

“Oi!” said Louis, feigning offense, though he really was slightly offended because Yorkshire tea was his _favourite_. “It does _not_ taste like piss! But yeah, I’ll have a cuppa if you’re making a pot.”

“Okay,” said Harry, turning to set out the teapot and adding tea to the infuser. “Would you like some chocolate cake with your tea?” he asked politely. “It’s really tasty.”

“Sure,” said Louis as Harry pulled teacups from the cabinet and milk from the refrigerator. “What are you going to do once you’ve read all of the cookery books in the library?”

“I’m trying to learn how to cook and bake,” Harry told him, setting out the teacups and saucers and putting the sugar bowl and creamer on the table. He went back to the counter and cut two slices of chocolate cake. The kettle began to boil and he turned it off, filling the teapot with hot water and putting it in the centre of the table. He gave Louis his piece of cake before sitting down with his own.

“You know, Jamie Oliver has a cookery school over in Shepherd’s Bush that”—Louis took a bite of cake—“This is, like, the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had,” said Louis through his mouthful. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” said Harry proudly, eyes wide and a pleased smile on his face.

“ _Really_?” said Louis, sounding surprised.

“Yes. Niall helped me buy all of the right ingredients and I made it!” Harry told Louis. “Is it really the best cake you’ve ever had?”

“Yeah. It’s, like, perfect.”

“Thank you! The frosting took a few tries because the butter kept getting too melty,” Harry explained, “but Niall said it was okay because it was good practice.”

“Yeah,” agreed Louis, taking another bite of cake. “We should find out about those cookery lessons. You’d be, like, the star pupil.”

“Really?” asked Harry, excited. “Can we find them on the computer?”

“We’ll find the website, yeah,” Louis told him. “You know, I’ll show you how to use Google and YouTube. You can find all sorts of websites and videos and stuff, give you even more things to read about cooking.”

“Will there be pastry recipes?” Harry wondered. “I want to make Niall gooey buns.”

Louis gave a little laugh. “I’m sure you’ll find, like, a hundred different recipes for gooey buns. You can try them all, call it practice,” he said. “Bring Liam and me the mistakes.”

Harry smiled his brilliant smile. “Even if they’re not very good?”

“They’ll probably still be better than the frozen kind they sell at Sainsbury’s.”

Louis and Harry finished their tea and cake and Louis helped Harry clean up, washing the dishes while Harry wiped down the table and got Niall’s laptop from the bedroom. They sat at the table side-by-side while Louis showed Harry how to find things on the internet, Googling recipes for gooey buns and banana muffins and finding the Jamie Oliver Cookery School website and watching YouTube videos that showed how to make croissant dough—“Seems like a lot of work,” said Louis—and banana cream pies with chocolate cookie crust—“Bananas are my favourite fruit but I also love apricots,” said Harry.

“Thanks, Louis,” said Harry after a couple hours of computer lessons. “Now I know how to use a computer _and_ I have a library card!”

“You’re welcome, Haz. Make sure you tell Niall you know how to watch porn now,” said Louis, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“O-okay,” said Harry, a little confused. “Is Liam going to come over for pizza?”

“That’s the plan.”

The door opened and Niall stepped into the flat. Harry stood up from the table and walked quickly to the blonde, wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck and kissing him chastely on the lips.

“Hi, Niall,” he said sweetly.

“Hi, pet,” said Niall, pulling back to look over his shoulder at Louis. “Hey, Lou.”

“You two are sickening,” Louis informed them. “It’s adorable.”

“Yeah, thanks, Lou,” said Niall sarcastically. “Where’s your other half? He coming over?”

“He just texted,” answered Louis. “Said he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Great,” said Niall, moving to sit down at the table. Harry sat down on his lap, smiling. “You have a good day, love?”

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry. “Louis took me to get a library card. And then he showed me how to use the computer so I can find recipes and watch videos about how to cook and bake more! He also said I can watch- I can watch porn now.”

“ _What_?” asked Niall, looking quickly from Harry to Louis. “Why’d you show him—”

“Ah, calm down,” said Louis. “I didn’t show him any porn. I don’t want to corrupt your precious, innocent mermaid. We just watched baking videos.”

“I’m going to make a banana cream pie tomorrow,” Harry told Niall. “I’ll go shopping in the morning and get everything I need.”

There was a knock on the door and Harry stood to answer it. “Hi, Li,” he greeted Liam, standing back to let the boy pass into the flat.

Pizza arrived soon after Liam and the four lads ate at the table, moving to the living area to watch a movie that Harry picked.

“It’s about two _dogs_ who fall in _love_ ,” said Harry, the plot of _Lady and the Tramp_ clearly endeared to the boy. “It’ll be so cute!”

“Okay, love,” said Niall, starting the movie. Harry cuddled into the boy at the end of the sofa, happy in Niall’s arms. On the other end, Louis stretched out, head in Liam’s lap.

The movie played and Harry cried when Trusty was pinned under the dog catcher’s wagon wheel—“This movie’s so _sad_ , Niall!” he whimpered, receiving a kiss on the forehead and a comforting _shhhh_ from Niall—before finding at the end that the dog just had a broken leg.

“It’s so _romantic_ , Niall,” sighed Harry after Liam and Louis left, still curled up on the sofa in Niall’s arms. “When they’re eating spaghetti and they kiss!”

Niall chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty cute.”

“They have little puppies and everything.”

Niall leant forward and kissed Harry, nipping at his bottom lip lightly. He pulled away, taking in Harry’s flushed face and closed eyes, lips parted slightly. “You’re adorable,” he told Harry. “Now let’s go to bed.”

A bit later, Niall and Harry lay in bed in their pants, teeth brushed and feet tangled together.

“Niall?” said Harry from where his head was rested on Niall’s chest.

“Mmm?”

“Can we- can we try it maybe?” he asked, bashful and quiet.

“Try what, pet?” asked Niall, fingers tracing along Harry’s spine.

“Try, um, try making love?”

“You want”—Niall inhaled sharply, feeling a little lightheaded—“Now?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry. “Please? Can we try?”

“Yeah, God, yes,” said Niall, breathing suddenly heavy. “I’ll- Let me take care of you. I’ll make it feel so good for you, love.” Niall hoped, _prayed_ , that he could make it good for Harry, that his first time would be enough that Harry would want to do it again, because he’d never been the one on the giving end; Niall had always bottomed, had always _received_ , but he didn’t think that would work with Harry, at least not his first time.

“Please, Niall,” begged Harry. “ _Please_.”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall. “Kiss me, okay?”

Without saying a word, Harry lifted his head from Niall’s chest and placed his lips to Niall’s, kissing him slow and sweet. Niall moved a hand to cup the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

“Mmm,” moaned Harry, gasping when Niall placed his other hand on Harry’s bum and began to rub it, smoothing the fabric of his pants over his arse. After a few moments of gentle teasing, Niall slipped his hand under the waistband of Harry’s pants, caressing the soft flesh of Harry’s pert bum and massaging it with his strong fingers.

“Harry, love,” said Niall against Harry’s lips as he moved his fingers to trace up and down between Harry’s arse cheeks, “I’m going to- I’m going to… get you ready. Got to start to… open you up a bit, so you can- so you can fit me.”

Harry inhaled, understanding hitting him. “O-okay, Niall,” he whispered breathily.

“Got to, um, I’ve got to find something first,” said Niall, pushing up and moving toward the nightstand, hoping he still had a little bottle of lube _somewhere_ and that it wasn’t expired or anything. He pulled open the drawer and searched around, reaching to the back of the drawer and finding a small plastic bottle. “Yes!” he said under his breath, moving back to lie on the bed. “Come back and”—he stretched out an arm to Harry—“come back and lie down again.”

Harry crawled back to Niall, arranging himself so he was sprawled half on top of Niall, and leant down to kiss the blonde. Niall slid his hand back to Harry’s bum, going under Harry’s pants with no preamble and rubbing his arse softly.

“Going to take these off, love,” he said, dragging his hand up and back over the curve of Harry’s bum and, along with his other hand, pushing the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs down over his arse. With a little shimmy and kick, Harry removed the pants completely, leaving them forgotten at the foot of the bed.

“Okay, pet, I’ve got to- I’ve got to open you up a bit, yeah?” whispered Niall again. “I’ll go slow and- and gentle but I’ll stop right away if it hurts or if- or if you don’t like it or something.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, voice a little shaky. “Pr-promise?”

“O’ course, love.” Niall kissed Harry, a gentle peck, and slid his now-lubed fingers between Harry’s arse cheeks. He teased around the rim, circling Harry’s hole slowly, and Harry let out a little whimpering moan.

“Oh, _Niall_ ,” whined Harry and, taking that as encouragement, Niall slipped the tip of his index finger into Harry’s hole. “ _Oh_!” said Harry, sounding surprised, eyes widening a bit.

“S’it okay?” asked Niall quickly.

“Y-yeah,” said Harry, “just feels- _ooooh_ ”—he whined, eyes closing and head dropping down, when Niall pressed his finger in a bit farther—“feels weird but- but _really_ good.”

“Yeah?” Niall choked out.

“Oooh, _yes_ , Niall,” sighed Harry.

Niall pressed his finger in up to the second knuckle and then pulled it out slowly before pushing it back in, beginning to fuck Harry with his finger, shallow and slow.

“Does that feel- Is that good, love?”

“Please, Niall,” moaned Harry. “ _Please_.”

“Please- please _what_ , love?” asked Niall.

“Please _more_ , Niall,” begged Harry.

Without another question, Niall placed his middle finger beside his index finger where it was just inside Harry’s tight hole and worked it in, wiggling it slowly to fit in beside the first finger.

“Harry?” asked Niall, all too aware of his own growing erection—Harry was so _tight_ and his little whimpers and whines were aphrodisiacs, it seemed—as well as Harry’s hardening length.

“It’s so _good_ , Niall,” Harry moaned, pushing his bum back to take Niall’s fingers even deeper. “Ahhh. _More_ , please!”

“Are you- are you sure, love?” Niall questioned, not wanting to hurt his boy.

“ _Yes_ , Niall,” said Harry, low and throaty, nearly a growl. “ _More_.”

“Okay, pet,” whispered Niall, kissing Harry gently. “One more finger.”

Niall placed his ring finger at Harry’s entrance, scissoring his first two fingers a bit to open Harry more—“ _Niall_!” moaned Harry, eyelids fluttering with pleasure from the movement—before working the third finger in. He pumped his fingers slowly, pressing in only to the first knuckle with the first few thrusts until deepening the motion and going to the second knuckle.

“Niall, Niall, Niall,” babbled Harry, his cock hard against Niall’s thigh. He began to fuck himself back on Niall’s fingers roughly, panting and whining when Niall spread his fingers to stretch Harry even more.

Finally, Niall spoke again. “Harry, love, are you ready- Do you think you can take my, um, my cock?”

“Yes, _please_ , Niall!” cried Harry. “Please, I want to feel you.”

“ _Fuck_ , Harry,” groaned Niall. “Want to feel you too, baby.” He pulled his fingers out of Harry’s arse. “Roll over, love, on your back, yeah.”

Harry did as instructed, lying on his back on the mattress. “ _Niall_.”

Niall sat up, finding the lube and shuffling around on his knees. “Spread your legs a bit, pet,” he said, patting Harry’s inner thigh to encourage him. “Good boy,” he added when Harry’s legs fell apart, allowing Niall space to kneel in between. He moved closer still, looking down at Harry spread out for him on the bed, his hard cock lying against his tummy.

“Niall,” whined Harry, sounding almost desperate and looking up at the blonde with glimmering eyes, watching as Niall spread lube on his length.

“Christ, you’re so beautiful, Harry,” Niall told him. “I’m going to- I’m going to fill you up, love.”

“Yes,” sighed Harry and Niall placed the tip of his cock against Harry’s hole.

“Tell me- tell me if it hurts,” he said, pushing his cock into Harry, feeling Harry’s tight hole stretching around the head to accommodate his length. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he moaned, the head popping in past the ring of tight muscle.

“Ah!” cried Harry and Niall stilled.

“Harry—”

“It’s- Please don’t move, Niall,” said Harry, voice quiet and eyes closed tight.

“Harry, love, do you want me to—”

“ _No_ , Niall,” breathed Harry. “Just- don’t move for a minute.”

“Okay, pet.” Niall clenched his jaw, Harry’s tight hole driving him mad, and moved his hands to Harry’s thighs, rubbing up and down softly, soothing.

Finally, Harry whispered, “Okay, Niall, you can- you can move now. Please.”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall, moving his hips at a slow, steady pace and pressing his cock in inch by inch. “God, you feel- you feel amazing, baby.” He bent down, kissing Harry’s full lips sweetly. “You’re amazing.”

“Niall, please, _deeper_ ,” said Harry, thrusting his hips up in an attempt to take Niall in farther.

“O-”—Niall chuckled—“okay, pet.” He pressed in completely, pelvis against Harry’s arse, and moaned with the brunette.

Breathing and heart rate quickening, Niall pulled out and pushed back in, setting a slow rhythm as he fucked into his boy. Harry was tight, his virgin hole clenching around Niall’s cock, and Niall wondered for a moment why he’d never done it this way around before because it was incredible. Or maybe it was just because it was Harry.

Niall was brought out of his thoughts when Harry choked out, “Ni-Niall, you feel- This is”—he shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut tightly—“I love you.”

“Oh, God, _fuck_ , love,” groaned Niall. He was close, _so close_ , but he wanted Harry to finish first. He reached down and rubbed Harry’s upper thigh with one hand, calming and gentle, and took Harry’s leaking cock in his other hand. He began to stroke Harry’s length, the movements of his hand matching the rhythm of his thrusts into Harry’s arse. “I love you too, pet. So much.”

Harry moaned, throaty and long, and said, sounding wild with his approaching orgasm, “Niall! This is- What’s—”

“It’s okay, love. Just, _oh_ , just let go, baby,” said Niall, stroking Harry’s cock as he continued to fuck into the boy, slow and steady. “I’ve got you, love.”

“Ni-Ni-Niall!” stuttered Harry, broken and raspy, as he came all over Niall’s hand, wide-eyed. “Niall!”

Niall pulled out and moved his cum-covered hand to his own cock, stroking himself three more times before adding his cum to Harry’s stomach. “ _God_ , Harry,” he groaned, eyes shut and brows furrowed. He leant forward and kissed Harry hungrily, desperate because he’d never get enough of Harry, he knew.

The kiss slowed down, turned to delicate kisses and sweet pecks, and Harry lifted a hand to the side of Niall’s face to caress his cheek softly.

“I made- I made a mess,” said Harry, embarrassed, when Niall pulled back to look down at him, a blush dusting Harry’s face a rosy pink. “I’m sorry.”

Niall laughed, so fond. “Don’t be _sorry_ , love. That _mess_ means we did it right.” He smiled at Harry, noticing his confusion. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Harry, bashful, and nodded.

“We both orgasmed—”

“Because it felt so good.”

“Because it felt so good,” agreed Niall, smiling cheekily. “We orgasmed and this”—he reached down and swirled his fingers in the cum on Harry’s tummy—“is cum. Well, semen. But just call it cum unless you want to sound like a doctor or something.”

“So that was… supposed to happen?” asked Harry, a little unsure.

“Yes. I’d be worried I didn’t make you feel good if it didn’t happen,” Niall assured him.

“Oh, no, Niall,” said Harry quickly. “You made me feel _so_ good!”

“Really?” asked Niall, hoping his nervousness wasn’t plain on his face; Niall wasn’t a virgin but it _was_ his first time having sex as the top.

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry, sounding dreamy now. “It was- it was _lovely_. I want to make love again and again and _again_ because- because”—he smiled sleepily—“you’re so wonderful and I love you very much.”

“Oh, pet, I love you very much too,” said Niall, kissing Harry again. “Now let me clean us up and we can go to sleep.”

Harry blinked at Niall slowly. “Okay, Niall.”

*******

Harry woke up the next morning, a few hours after Niall had kissed him goodbye before he left for work. He turned on the kettle and got the teapot ready before opening Niall’s laptop and finding the black-bottom banana cream pie recipe he’d found the day before.

He also decided to make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, a romantic surprise for Niall like Lady and Tramp. He remembered reading a recipe for spaghetti and meatballs with tomato sauce in one of Niall’s Jamie Oliver books so he thought he would find that.

He made his tea and some toast with jam, sitting back at the table and writing a shopping list of things he would need at the grocery store. His handwriting was still a little messy and childlike but it was getting better; it wasn’t too hard, really, because he just copied the way the letters looked in books and magazines and album covers.

Shopping list completed and tea and toast finished, Harry showered and dressed. He walked to the supermarket, glad it wasn’t raining today, though it was a bit foggy and overcast.

Inside the store, Harry found a trolley and made his way through the produce section first, then the meat section. He knew where to find nearly all of the ingredients he needed but he wasn’t sure where dried oregano or nutmeg were, nor semisweet chocolate.

“Hello,” he said to a boy who looked about his age wearing a maroon and orange Sainsbury’s zip-up. “Could you please tell me where I can find, um, dried oregano and nutmeg and semisweet chocolate?”

“It should all be in Aisle 12,” said the boy. “All of the baking items and spices are on the shelves on the right side, walking to the front of the store.”

“Thank you,” said Harry politely. “You were very helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” said the boy, sounding slightly amused by Harry’s unusually polite manner.

Harry turned away, pushing his trolley to Aisle 12. He soon found the last three items on his list and made his way to the checkout lane.

“Spaghetti and meatballs tonight?” asked the cashier, a pretty girl who smiled at Harry.

“Yes!” he said. “I’m making it to surprise my boyfriend. It’ll be like _Lady and the Tramp_.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” she said. “He’s lucky.”

Harry paid for his groceries with the paper money Niall had left for him on the nightstand and took his bags, deciding to take the Underground home because his bags were kind of heavy and it looked like it might rain.

When Harry got back to the flat, he sorted the groceries and put them away. He thought he would make the pie first because he remembered that the recipe said some of the components needed to be chilled before the pie could be assembled. He’d also never made pastry cream before so he thought it might be a good idea to start early in case he made a bunch of mistakes and had to go back to Sainsbury’s for more eggs or heavy cream; the recipe seemed pretty simple and he’d watched some videos that showed the process so he thought it might only take a couple tries but it was better safe than sorry, he supposed.

Harry found the recipe again and took the little digital baking scale Niall had bought for Harry—it was a pretty pink and Harry thought it was very cute—from the shelf with Niall’s cookery books. He weighed out the ingredients for the pastry cream and read through the recipe once more before watching a couple videos on YouTube to see how they did it; he was worried he would scramble the egg when he poured in the hot heavy cream but liked that the girl in one video suggested using a ladle to add little bits of cream at a time instead of pouring it all in in one go.

Harry was well pleased with himself when he found his first attempt had been quite good; he’d found a few small lumps—he figured he hadn’t whisked thoroughly enough—but followed advice from another video that he put it through a mesh sieve to get out any bits.

He made the crust next, having fun crushing up chocolate wafer cookies and stirring them into melted butter and chocolate before pressing them into the pie dish. It was a bit like playing with damp sand, Harry thought, except it tasted yummy.

While Harry’s crust was in the refrigerator chilling, allowing the butter and melted chocolate to set up, he measured out the ingredients for the chocolate ganache and, after reading through the recipe again, made the chocolate filling. He decided he liked melting chocolate; there was something very _satisfying_ about it.

Ganache poured into the crust and the pie dish back in the refrigerator chilling, Harry sliced up the bananas that he’d bought and then cleaned up his dirty dishes and wiped down the counters so they wouldn’t be covered with chocolate when he started making meatballs and tomato sauce.

When the chocolate was finally cool, Harry arranged the banana slices on top and spread the vanilla pastry cream over the whole thing. He’d make the whipped cream after he got dinner started, he thought, pleased with his work so far.

Harry had learnt to cook for himself quite well, making himself breakfast and lunch on days Niall was at work—he’d moved up from toast and jam to eggs cooked all types of ways, including dippy eggs, and had made fun sandwiches like grilled cheese and bacon buttys, sometimes with lettuce and tomato—but he’d never really cooked a full meal like he planned to do now. He hoped it would be okay and that Niall would like it.

Banana cream pie back in the refrigerator, Harry moved onto his meatballs and sauce, measuring out his ingredients and chopping up his garlic and onions—maybe he’d ask Niall about taking the knife skills class at Jamie Oliver’s cookery school because it seemed to take him a long time and he thought that cutting vegetables quickly would probably be an important skill for a cook—and sauteeing the onions for the sauce.

An hour and a half later, the tomato sauce and meatballs were simmering on the stove and Harry had made whipped cream and decorated his pie.  He set the table with matching china and flatware, following the little diagram he’d found online that showed where to put the fork and knife and everything else. Niall wouldn’t be home for two more hours but he wanted to make sure everything was nice.

Harry had just turned on the pot of water for spaghetti when Niall got home. “It smells amazing in here!” he commented, turning to the kitchen. The blonde stopped in his tracks, noticing the neatly set table and lit candles.

“I made spaghetti and meatballs!” said Harry, smiling.

“You cooked for me?” asked Niall, sounding a little surprised. “That’s- Oh, love, that’s so sweet.”

“We can be like Lady and Tramp,” said Harry sweetly, walking to Niall. He wrapped his arms around Niall’s neck and kissed his lips, like he always did when Niall got home from work. “I get to be Lady though.”

Niall laughed quietly. “That seems fitting.”

“Come on, Niall,” said Harry, unwinding his long arms from Niall’s neck and taking one of the boy’s hands instead. He led him to the kitchen and told him to sit down while he cooked the spaghetti.

“I thought you were going to make a banana cream pie today,” said Niall as he watched Harry at the stove.

“I did,” Harry told Niall, turning from the pot of pasta to Niall. “It’s in the refrigerator. But that’s for dessert, silly.”

“You made- you made spaghetti and meatballs _and_ a pie?” asked Niall, eyes widening.

“Yes,” agreed Harry, scooping the spaghetti into a bowl and tossing it in sauce and parmesan cheese.

“Harry, pet,” said Niall, looking at his boyfriend in awe. “You’re so”—he looked down at the plate of spaghetti and meatballs the lad had placed on the table in front of him—“This looks _amazing_ , love.”

“Thanks, Niall,” said Harry, blushing the faintest shade of pink. “I hope it tastes good too. I wanted- I wanted to make it romantic for you.”

Niall reached across the table and took Harry’s hand in his own. “Yeah, you- you did that, pet.” He squeezed Harry’s hand. “This is lovely.”

“Good.” Harry beamed. “Now try the spaghetti before it gets cold.”


	18. bewitched, bothered and bewildered

Niall woke up early one Saturday morning, the late summer sunrise foggy and dim through the windows, to the sound of crying. It was the quiet, spidery tearfulness of heartache and tender sorrow, Niall knew, not the harsh sobs of pain and heartbreak.

He rolled over and found Harry curled up on the bed, knees pulled to his chest and face buried in his pillow as tears dripped down his nose.

“Harry?” asked Niall nervously, feeling a sense of panic and dread wash over him. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you- are you okay?”

Harry inhaled shakily and turned his face into his pillow still more, hiding his tear-streaked face from Niall.

“Harry? Pet, please”—Niall felt helpless, unsure what to do—“ _please_ tell me what’s wrong. I just- Come here, pet.” Niall moved closer, pulling the lad into his arms. “Love,” he whispered into Harry’s hair, “why are you crying?”

“Niall,” whimpered Harry, nuzzling his face into Niall’s chest, “Niall, I- I miss- I miss my mummy. And- and the sea and I’m- I’m- I’m—”

“Shhhh,” hushed Niall, trying to calm Harry, feeling the speed of the lad’s breathing quicken against his chest. “Pet, I’m sorry. I wish I could give you back your mother and- and your old life. I’m so sorry. Please, pet,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s spine, hoping to soothe him, “please breathe. Breathe with me, love.”

He felt as Harry tried to match his breath to Niall’s, his tears soaking into Niall’s shirt. Breath finally back to a slower rhythm, Harry fell asleep in Niall’s arms.

Niall lay in bed for a while, Harry held close to his chest. He felt his heart splintering, cracking from Harry’s ache; he’d _known_ this would happen, _known_ Harry would feel homesick and pine for his old life eventually. Harry was a _mermaid_ and belonged in the sea, even if he was an outcast in his old home, because the sea was his natural habitat. And, Niall knew, it was in his nature to long to return home; he’d researched merrow folklore quite a lot since he’d brought Harry back to London two and a half months earlier and he’d learnt that it was an inherent trait, the mermaids’ desire to return to the sea overwhelming.

It was just a matter of time, he worried, before Harry would leave him to go back to the sea; he may not be able to return beneath the waves without his _cohuleen druith_ but he could still move back to Bournemouth or another seaside town to be _near_ the sea.

After an hour of lying with Harry in his arms, the boy fast asleep, Niall untangled himself from the brunette and got out of bed. He decided to make Harry’s favourite—tea and toast with apricot jam which, for some reason, Harry thought was the most romantic food to have as breakfast-in-bed—and turn on The Maccabees and wake him up with gentle kisses and whispered promises of love and adoration.

Niall went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He set up the teapot with tea and dropped bread into the toaster, pulling preserves and jam from the refrigerator and arranging the creamer, sugar bowl, teacups, and spoons on the breakfast tray.

Everything set and just waiting for the water to boil, Niall walked to the record player on the other side of the room and switched out Paul Simon’s _Graceland_ for The Maccabees’ _Given To The Wild—_ another thing Harry found just _too_ romantic—and turned it on, volume quiet and _peaceful_.

Filling the teapot and adding it to the breakfast tray, Niall carried it into the bedroom and sat it down on the floor at the foot of the bed. He climbed onto the bed and crawled toward Harry, dropping down to kiss his cheeks and chin and closed eyelids, his nose and forehead and brow. He pulled back and whispered, lips against Harry’s plump ones, “Wake up, love! I made tea and toast.”

Harry gave a quiet hum. “Niall?”

“Yeah, pet. I made breakfast in bed so we can- we can cuddle and drink tea.”

“Is it apricot?” Harry asked sleepily, voice rough from his tears earlier.

“O’ course it is, love,” said Niall. “Just how you like it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, eyes opening a bit and Niall was heartbroken to see how puffy and red Harry’s eyes were still. “I love you, Niall.”

“Oh, pet, I love you too,” whispered Niall against Harry’s lips. He kissed him gently, softly, like Harry was the most precious thing in his life—he _was_ —and said, “I just want you to be happy. I hate it- I hate it when you cry.”

“I _am_ happy, Niall,” said Harry through a sniffle and Niall’s eyebrows raised in slight disbelief. “You make me _so_ happy and- and I _love_ you, Niall.”

Niall looked at Harry, feeling a little confused. “You- Love, you were _crying_ before. So much. You were so- you were so sad.” He paused for a few seconds, hesitant about his next words. “You want to go home and—”

“I don’t want to go home, Niall,” Harry told him, shaking his head. “I _am_ \- _This_ is my home. I’m just… homesick.”

Niall was struck by Harry’s words, by their sincerity and the meaning behind them, and took a deep breath. “Is it because we watched _The Little Mermaid_ last night?”

“Maybe.” Harry shrugged, looking up at Niall. “More kisses, please?”

“Yes,” said Niall, leaning down to kiss Harry again and again. “Tea’ll get cold,” he whispered into a kiss.

“That’s okay.”

*******

Harry and Niall sat opposite Liam and Louis, plates filled with a variety of sushi on the table between them.

“My mum used to make sushi a lot,” said Harry happily, picking up a piece of a spicy salmon roll and dipping it in soy sauce. “We didn’t know it was called _sushi_ though. And it didn’t have rice.”

“How did she- how did she cut up the fish?” asked Liam, taking a bite of his own sushi. “Like, I always just picture you biting off their heads or something.”

“ _Li-am_!” said Harry, sounding and looking offended. “Merrows have tools too, you know! They’re just not as fancy as human tools.”

“ _God_ , Liam,” said Louis, rolling his eyes beside his friend. “Don’t be so insensitive,” he added, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Thank you, Louis,” said Harry, missing Louis’ sarcasm. “We’re not _barbaric_ , just because we’re mermaids.”

“Mermaids are people too, Liam,” teased Louis, as sassy as ever.

“Except Harry’s not a mermaid anymore,” said Niall, voice a little flat. “He’s a human now.”

“Well, yeah,” said Liam, shrugging in agreement. “But it’s sort of like you. You’re Irish, right, but you live in England. But you’ll always be Irish.”

“No, Liam,” said Niall snippily. “It’s _not_ like that. I’ve _always_ been a human and—”

“Oh, come off it, lad,” said Louis. “We know you were really a leprechaun before you moved to England.”

Harry snorted out a giggle, his hands flying up to cover his mouth, and Niall’s irritation melted a bit.

“They’re real too, you know,” said Harry once he’d stopped laughing at Louis’ joke. “Leprechauns. My mum used to tell me…”

And Niall’s irritation was back again at Harry’s mention of his mother. It seemed lately that _everything_ Harry talked about revolved around his mother and his life as a mermaid in the sea, ever since the morning Niall woke up to find a tearful Harry crying about being homesick and missing his mother.

If Niall was being honest, he felt inadequate; Harry _never_ told Liam and Louis about the things they did together, never talked about their picnics at the park or the concerts they went to or Harry’s day at the studio with Niall the week before or their day at the SEA LIFE London Aquarium—in retrospect, that may not have been the most brilliant idea for a date—or how Niall was teaching Harry how to play the guitar.

And nearly every night for the past couple weeks, Niall had found himself holding a tearful Harry, tears wet on Niall’s neck and shoulders and chest, his cheeks tear-streaked and pillow damp with sadness and _homesick_.

Niall knew he wasn’t enough for Harry, wasn’t enough to keep him in London when it was in his nature to long for the sea. It was just a matter of time before Harry left.

“Niall?” said Harry, bringing Niall out of his thoughts a bit and back to his friends. “Niall, Liam and Louis are going to the tattoo parlour after lunch to get more pictures. Can we go with them?”

Niall looked at Harry, still stuck in his head a bit, as he tried to work out what the boy had said. “Oh, uh—”

“Nialler doesn’t like the tattoo parlour,” Louis told Harry, mistaking Niall’s muddled thoughts for his hesitancy to go to the parlour. “Freaks him out a bit.” He turned to Niall. “He can just come with us now and we’ll meet up with you at the pub later, if you want.”

“No, um, no,” he said, “I’ll come too.”

“You will?” asked Liam, sounding surprised. “We’ve both got, like, a hundred tattoos and you’ve never come with us before.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, eating his last piece of sushi. “But, like, Harry’s been asking about getting a tattoo for a month now and—”

“Can I- Can I get a _tattoo_?” asked Harry, so excited.

“O’ course, love,” said Niall, smiling at Harry’s eagerness. “If you want to. Or we can go back another day if you’re not sure.”

“No! I know- I know what I want, Niall!” exclaimed Harry, looking at Niall with wide eyes and a brilliant smile.

They finished their lunch and headed to the Underground, taking the tube to the stop a short walk from the tattoo parlour. Harry held Niall’s hand, swinging it as they walked down the street and babbling about how exciting it was that he was going to have _pictures_ on his skin.

Niall found that, no matter how much it bothered him when Harry talked constantly about his previous life, he couldn’t stay irritated for very long because Harry was just too perfect and he was really very in love with him, especially when he did sweet little things like kiss Niall’s cheek and whisper sweetly, “I love you, Niall.”

At the tattoo parlour, Louis and Liam introduced Harry to their artist, a burly bearded man named George who looked like he belonged on a Harley-Davidson and _maybe_ to the London chapter of Hells Angels but was, it turned out, one of the sweetest people Niall could think of ever having met. He smiled a kind, Santa Claus smile at Harry and asked him what, exactly, he wanted tattooed.

Harry told him, sounding just as excited as a kid in a toystore, that he wanted a little shamrock and a “letter A in pretty handwriting, please.” George did the tattoos—the tiny shamrock on his left wrist and an A on the front of his left shoulder above his chest—and cleaned them up, putting small bandages over the raw skin.

“What do they mean, Haz?” asked Louis.

“They’re for the most special people in my life! My mum’s name is Anne, so the A is for her,” said Harry. Before Niall had time to properly be bothered by Harry’s mention of his mother yet again, Harry continued, “And the shamrock’s for Niall because he’s my lovely little leprechaun!”

“Sweet, innit?” asked George when Niall walked across the small room and took Harry’s face in his hands, kissing the boy breathless.

Maybe he was wrong, Niall thought, and Harry _wasn’t_ going to leave him some day. _God_ , he hoped he was wrong.

*******

Niall and Harry listened to a record while they cleaned up from the dinner Harry had cooked—he’d spent the afternoon making his first attempt at French baguettes to go with the onion soup he’d made and and it had gone pretty well, if he said so himself—and Harry started to sing along, voice beautiful and low.

And suddenly Niall realised why he’d fallen in love with Harry, why he’d fallen so hard, how it had happened so quickly.

He couldn’t believe he’d never thought of it before because it was really quite obvious.

Harry was a mermaid and mermaids were known for using their sweet voices to seduce sailors and fishermen, singing to lure them in so they could bewitch them and bring them to live beneath the waves with their kind.

And Harry sang all of the time, while listening to records with Niall and with the radio in the car and when his favourite songs came on at the pub—“I _love_ this song, Niall! ‘Mardy Bum’ is my favourite!”—and when he was making tea or taking a shower in the morning and walking home with Niall while they held hands.

So, Niall concluded, Harry had bewitched him. He couldn’t take Niall back to the sea with him since he’d lost his _cohuleen druith_ but he could still enchant Niall; he’d had no friends, he’d told Niall, and nowhere to go once he’d lost his seacap and maybe, _just maybe_ , he’d seen a way to get both when Niall found him lying on that beach.

Harry didn’t _love_ him. He just _needed_ him, needed Niall to provide for him and give him a safe, warm place to live and food and clothes and everything he needed to survive as a mermaid trapped on land.

Harry wasn’t staying with him because he _loved_ him. He was staying with him because he had nowhere else to go.

So if Harry was using magic to bewitch him, to make Niall love him, it wasn’t _real_ love that he felt for the mermaid; it was superficial, just a spell or a thrall or something. That, he told himself because it was a comforting thought—as comforting as the situation allowed, anyway—meant that when Harry inevitably left him to go back to the seaside, it wouldn’t hurt as much as if it was true love.

Yeah. Right, thought Niall wryly when Harry leant over and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. It wouldn’t hurt at all.

They finished cleaning up and moved to the sofa. Niall turned on the telly and started scrolling through the channels, trying to find something to watch.

“Louis and Liam are taking me to see George again!” said Harry happily, looking at Niall. “I’m going to get another tattoo.”

“You are?” asked Niall, a little surprised. “Your others just finished healing a few days ago.”

“I know but I have another picture I want to get and Louis said they would take me.”

“What’s this one, then?” asked Niall kindly, seeing his boyfriend’s excitement plainly.

“A ship!” Harry opened a book that Niall had seen on the coffee table—Harry must have borrowed it from the library because Niall knew he didn’t have any books about seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth century military and merchant ships—and showed Niall a picture. “Isn’t it _pretty_?” he asked, sighing. “It’s a frigate. They don’t look like that anymore though. It’s sad, really. Modern ships are so _ugly_.”

“Yeah,” said Niall, though he didn’t really know _that_ much about ships. “I reckon that’s true.”

“Only yachts and little boats are pretty, really. With their sails that flow in the wind,” said Harry, sighing again, and Niall supposed that boats and ships must be the merrow-male equivalent of sports cars and classic cars. “But old-fashioned ships were _so_ pretty.”

“Why a frigate?” asked Niall flipping through the pages of the book and seeing pictures of other ships—brigantines, sloops, British Man-o-Wars, Spanish Galleons, and French warships.

“Because Blackbeard’s ship was a frigate,” Harry explained, “and my mum used to tell me stories about Blackbeard when I was a kid and they were my favourite. He was the _coolest_ pirate, Niall!”

Niall chuckled and tried to ignore the fact that this tattoo was linked to yet _another_ memory of his past life in the sea.


	19. black treacle

Harry looked across the table at Niall, a small pout on his face. He’d woke up with Niall before the blonde left for work so he could talk to him; he’d been asleep already when Niall got home the night before.

“But _why_ did you take two more students, Niall?” he asked, sad. “Is it because we need more money?” he wondered, sounding nervous. “I could- I can try to find a job, Niall. Just—”

“No, Harry,” said Niall, a little short, “they just asked me to take on two more lessons, that’s it.”

“But now”—Harry gave a giant yawn and rubbed his eyes sleepily—“now I don’t get to see you!”

“Yes, you do,” said Niall, finishing his cereal and looking at Harry. “It’s only three nights a week, Harry. And it won’t be that late.”

“But _Niall_ ,” whined Harry, “you weren’t home until I was already asleep last night! And that was late because I didn’t go to sleep until half eleven!”

“I went to the pub for a bit after I the left the studio.” Niall shrugged.

“You could have asked me to come,” said Harry, still pouty and sad.

“Sorry, pet,” said Niall, though Harry didn’t think he really sounded _that_ sorry. “Didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“Niall,” said Harry, “I _always_ want to be with you.”

Niall blinked over his teacup at Harry, struck by his words and the force behind them. “I’m- I’m sorry, pet. Really.”

“Just- _please_ come home tonight?” Harry asked, sounding so small. “I don’t- I don’t like going to bed without you.”

“O’ course I’ll come home, Harry.”

Harry rubbed his eyes and watched as Niall got up from the table to put his cereal bowl and teacup in the sink.

“I love you, Niall,” said Harry, voice barely above a whisper.

Niall sighed quietly. “I love you too, Harry.”

Harry stood up and walked to Niall, wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck. “I’m going back to sleep because it’s too early and the sun’s not even up yet and I’m cranky,” he told Niall. “Have a good day at work, Niall.” He kissed Niall, soft and chaste, and turned away, headed back to bed.

“Yeah,” said Niall, “have a good day, love.”

Harry climbed back in bed, cuddling under the blankets and nuzzling his nose into Niall’s pillow, letting Niall’s scent surround him.

Niall had been acting strangely for the last month or so, ever since Harry had been homesick for a while and had talked about his mum and the sea a lot. He could tell that Niall sometimes got annoyed when he told stories about being a mermaid but he wasn’t really sure why; Niall talked about his family and his old home in Ireland sometimes and Harry _loved_ to hear his stories because Niall sounded so happy when he talked about his grandmother setting tea and going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve with “the lads” and playing at the fairgrounds with his cousins and friends.

Maybe Niall was lying when he told Harry they didn’t need more money; maybe Niall was stressed because he was paying for everything for both Harry _and_ himself now and he wasn’t making enough money at both his jobs to pay for everything.

He yawned and pulled the duvet over his shoulders—it was the middle of October now and the weather was getting chilly so Niall had switched the light summer blankets for the heavier duvet that was tucked away in a big box under the bed—and thought that maybe when he woke up later, he would try to find a job.

He finally fell back asleep, the warmth of the blankets and the smell of Niall’s pillow comforting him and tugging him back to sleep.

When he woke up a few hours later, Harry was disappointed to see that the sun wasn’t out—it looked grey and cloudy and chilly—but he decided that was okay because he would just wear his cuddly new cardigan Niall had bought him.

He got out of bed and showered, thinking that he would go to Black Treacle and get a pot of tea and some gooey buns for breakfast. He thought maybe he could bring the laptop with him and try to search the Internet for job listings; maybe Alexa, the friendly girl who owned the cafe, would have a copy of the day’s newspaper and he could look through the classified adverts too.

Dressed in his cozy jumper and a beanie over his damp hair, Harry packed the laptop into a bag with a notepad and pen. He unplugged his iPhone—Niall had decided that it would be a good idea to be able to call or text Harry, or for Harry to be able to call or text him or Louis or Liam, during the day—and slipped it into his back pocket.

He finally left the flat, locking the door and walking to the cafe. It was brisk but Harry didn’t mind it too much, enjoying the crisp air in his lungs.

He arrived at the shop, placing his bag on a table before going to the counter to order a pot of Earl Grey and some gooey buns. He returned to his table, taking out his laptop and phone and opening the computer. He clicked to open Google Chrome and sat looking at the blank search bar, unsure what to type. _I need a job_ didn’t seem right.

“You look confused,” said a pleasant voice from behind him.

He looked up and saw Alexa standing at his table, a tray with his tea setting and basket of buns in her arms. “Hi, Alexa,” he said, smiling at the pretty girl. He moved his MacBook and let her set his breakfast out. “I’m trying to find a job but… I don’t know how to find one.”

“You could try Googling ‘job adverts in London.’ That might work,” she said, smiling kindly.

“Thanks, Alexa,” said Harry. The girl smiled at him again and went back to the counter, leaving Harry to rearrange everything on his table, trying to find a good place for his computer. He typed Alexa’s suggestion— _job adverts in London_ —into the search bar and hit enter, watching as results appeared. He scrolled down and tried a few links, finding lots of jobs that he knew he _definitely_ didn’t qualify for and feeling a bit discouraged.

“Any luck?” asked Alexa from across the empty cafe.

“No,” said Harry, a little pout on his face. “I don’t”—he felt a little stupid admitting it but it was _true_ —“I don’t really know how to do very many things.”

“Well, what things _do_ you know how to do?” she asked.

“Um, I can play guitar a little bit but I’m not very good,” he said sadly. “Niall’s teaching me.”

“So you won’t be joining Arctic Monkeys,” said Alexa, hiding her smile. “Right. What else?”

“I’m good at, like, keeping the flat clean and tidy,” he told her, squinting his eyes in thought. “I know how to do laundry and make the bed and wash dishes and everything.”

“Maybe you could get a job as a housekeeper,” suggested Alexa. “Or maybe, like, a maid at a hotel or something?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, shrugging.

“Anything else?”

“I’m a good cook,” said Harry. “Niall says that I make the best dinner that’s _not_ Nando’s.”

“Do you know how to bake?” asked Alexa, pushing herself up from where she was leaning against the counter.

“Yes!” said Harry happily. “I _love_ to bake! Louis told me once that I made the best cake he ever tasted.”

“Harry! You absolute _dunce_!” exclaimed the girl. “Why didn’t you _start_ with that?”

Harry looked at her, confused. “Start with what?”

“That you love to bake and that you’re _good_ at it!” Still oblivious to what Alexa was trying to say, she added, “You’re sat in a bakery, you prat!”

“Oh,” said Harry, some sort of understanding seeming to dawn on him. “Do you want me to- do you want me to bake for you?”

“Here,” she said, walking from behind the counter to Harry. “We’ll do an interview right now. Been dead all morning so I’ve got time.”

“I’ve never, um, I’ve never done an interview before,” said Harry nervously.

“Just pretend I’m asking you questions like before,” said said, sitting down at the seat opposite him. “Like friends.”

Harry perked up—Did Alexa think they were _friends_?—and said quietly, “Okay.”

“How did you first learn how to bake, Harry?”

“Oh, I read all of Niall’s cookery books and tried a bunch of recipes. And after I read all of Niall’s cookery books, Louis took me to the library to get a library card and now I’m reading all of the cookery books at the library!” Harry told her happily. “And he showed me how to find recipes and videos on the Internet and so I learnt how to do even more stuff!”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Well, I can make cakes and decorate them nicely. I made one for Niall’s birthday last month. It was bittersweet chocolate and it had whiskey and coffee in it too. And I can bake cookies and brownies and pies. Niall likes when I make banana cream pies a lot,” Harry told her. “I like to make muffins and scones too, and I even make gooey buns sometimes. They’re a little different from yours, though.” He took a bite of a bun from his basket, as though just remembering they were there.

“Wow,” said Alexa, looking impressed. “How about bread and yeasted doughs?”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding. “I can make French baguettes pretty well. I like it when the yeast grows! It means I did it right.”

“Yeah,” agreed Alexa. “Have you ever made croissant dough?”

“I _love_ making croissant dough!”

“You- you _do_?” asked Alexa, sounding surprised because she’d never had a baker who _loved_ to make croissant dough.

“Mmhm,” hummed Harry through a mouthful of pastry. He swallowed and explained. “It’s _challenging_ so when I do it right, it makes me feel proud.”

“What are you doing for the rest of the day, Harry?”

“Nothing. I was just going to look for a job and then maybe go to the grocery store so I could buy everything to make macaroni and cheese for dinner.”

“Would you like to come see the kitchen for a bit?” asked Alexa. “See if you like it and then maybe we can talk about getting you a job?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “I want to see the kitchen!”

Harry finished his pastries and tea, packing up his laptop and helping Alexa clear up his table.

He followed the girl behind the counter, feeling _special_ because he got to go behind the _Employees Only_ sign. They walked down a small stairway that led to a big kitchen, large ovens and a gas hob along one wall and lots of shiny stainless steel counters and shelves.

“Whoa!” breathed Harry because a _real_ bakery kitchen was even more exciting then he’d dreamt it would be.

“Come on, Harry,” said Alexa, smiling and leading the boy down the stairs to the kitchen.

“It’s so _big_ ,” he said, looking around at the big mixer—much bigger than the one Niall had at home—and the pots and pans and spatulas and whisks and large double-door refrigerators.

“Harry, this is Pixie,” said Alexa, introducing Harry to a girl with very short brown hair who was putting a tray of muffins on a rack next to the oven.

“I know who Pixie is!” said Harry. “She makes my tea a lot.”

Pixie smiled. “Earl Grey,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Harry might be taking a job with us,” Alexa told the girl. “Going to show him around the bakeshop a bit. Would you mind going up to watch the front? It’s been dead all morning.”

“Sure,” said Pixie. “Good luck, Harry!”

“Thanks, Pixie!” called Harry, watching as she ran up the stairs to the cafe.

“All right,” said Alexa, handing Harry an apron, “let’s bake some cookies!”

*******

Harry stood at the stove, Foster The People’s _Torches_ playing on the record player, shaking his hips to the beat awkwardly as he whisked milk into the pan on the stove. He’d had a good day at Black Treacle—he’d baked chocolate chip cookies, rolled out croissant dough on the fancy mechanical rolling machine that Alexa called a “sheeter,” and cut and shaped the dough into perfect little crescents—and had been offered a job by Alexa.

He couldn’t wait to tell Niall, excited and proud of himself for getting a job as a baker. He hoped Niall would be proud of him too; he _did_ always say that Black Treacle was the best bakery in all of London.

He added the cheese to the pan and whisked, turning to pour the sauce over the macaroni in the baking dish, singing about _all the other kids with the pumped up kicks_ and dancing over to the sink with the empty pot and dirty whisk.

He sprinkled cheese over the top and put it in the oven, hoping it would be ready when Niall arrived home.

Hoping Niall would arrive home before half eleven.

He set about cleaning up the kitchen, washing his pots and the bowls and whisk he’d used, wiping the counters and stovetop free of cheese and _bechamel_.

As he was setting the table for dinner, two minutes left on his timer, the door opened and Niall walked into the flat.

“Niall!” said Harry, excitement lacing his voice. “Niall! You’re home!”

Niall gave a weak little chuckle. “Yup. I am.”

“Niall, you’re home and I made macaroni and cheese for dinner and I have _exciting_ news!” said Harry, walking toward the boy and wrapping his arms around the blonde’s neck and kissing him sweetly on the lips.

“Yeah?” said Niall, chasing Harry’s lips for another kiss and another, forgetting all of his concerns for a few moments. “Exciting news?” he whispered against Harry’s lips.

Harry’s timer beeped and he pulled away, leaving Niall feeling empty.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he told Niall, turning away from the blonde and walking back to the oven and his beeping timer.

Niall went to the bedroom to change into joggers and a tee, listening as Harry sang to the record spinning out in the flat and feeling a familiar tug in his chest.

“ _She clings to his consciousness wherever he lays. He struggles to sleep at night and during the day, he’s worried she’s waiting in his dreams to drag him back to the meeting place. His love had left him there where the voice still echoes—_ ”

“Harry, _please_ ,” said Niall quickly, walking from behind the bedroom curtain, “ _please_ stop singing. Stop—”

“What?” said Harry, turning from the kitchen counter to look at him. “Niall, why do—”

“What’s your exciting news, love?” interrupted Niall. “I just want you to tell me your news.”

“Oh!” said Harry, and Niall was glad that Harry seemed too excited to share his news to worry much about Niall’s request that he stop singing. “It’s so exciting, Niall! I got a _job_!”

“What?” asked Niall, surprising himself with how harsh his voice sounded. Apparently Harry didn’t notice though, because his enthusiasm didn’t dim for a moment.

“I got a job! At Black Treacle! I’m going to be a _professional_ baker!”

“Why did you get a job?” asked Niall, voice still harsh and clipped.

“I- I,” said Harry hesitantly, “I want to pay for things too. Now you won’t have to worry about money.”

“I’m _not_ worried about money, Harry,” said Niall. “It’s not an issue.”

“I thought- I thought maybe you were teaching more lessons so, um, so we could have more money,” said Harry, feeling a little nervous. He’d not wanted to make Niall angry; he’d just wanted to help. “Now you don’t have to buy me new clothes anymore. And I can help buy food and pay for things. And you won’t have to leave me money in the morning.”

“No!” said Niall—if Harry had his own money, he could leave Niall and find a flat in Bournemouth—and then said honestly, because it was true, “I like taking care of you.”

Harry blushed, a look of adoration spread on his pink-tinged cheeks. “I- I like that you take care of me,” he admitted shyly. “But I… want to take care of you too, sometimes.”

Niall stilled and looked at Harry, his breath catching in his throat. He looked so sweet and gentle, innocent and _perfect_ , and Niall felt himself melt a little.

“Go on, then,” said Niall, the harshness gone from his voice now and replaced with a softness Harry felt hadn’t been there for a while. “Tell me about this job.”  

“Oh, it’s so _exciting_ , Niall,” said Harry, picking up two dinner plates and filling them with macaroni and cheese. “I’m going to be a _baker_ at Black Treacle! I baked cookies and made croissants with Alexa today and she hired me!”

“That’s- that’s great, Harry,” said Niall, knowing he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he would have a month earlier.

Harry placed both plates on the table and sat down in his seat. “Thanks, Niall,” said Harry. “I’m going to make _all_ of the yeasted doughs because they’re my favourite. And I’ll bake all of the bread and pastries and cookies too.”

“What about that other bird? With the short brown hair?” asked Niall, eating his macaroni and cheese.

“Pixie. She’s at uni so it’s hard for her to be there early every morning,” said Harry. “So I’m going to get everything ready in the morning when it’s still dark and bake a bunch of stuff and then Pixie will just have to bake more cookies and scones and things during the day when they run out.”

“That’s exciting, Harry.” Niall smiled, trying not to let his deeper emotions and concerns play out on his face. “That will be fun for you, I reckon.”

Dinner passed, Harry babbling about baking cookies and making brioche dough and baking all of the breads and rolls that would be used for sandwiches in the cafe—“That’s a lot of responsibility, Niall, because good bread is the base for a good sandwich,” said Harry seriously—and maybe rolling truffles if he had time.

Niall, for the most part, tuned him out. His thoughts weren’t on chocolate truffles or the relationship between a perfectly baked loaf of bread and a perfect sandwich.

Harry could leave him now. He could work and save his money, find a small flat in Bournemouth or Poole or Christchurch, get a job at a bakery or restaurant there, and leave Niall.

He’d never resented a person for bettering himself, for learning and trying new things; he’d always appreciated that in people, respected it and found it to be an attractive quality. But now he hated it, hated that Harry was learning to care for himself. Fuck Louis and Liam—fuck _himself_ —for teaching Harry how to become a functioning human adult.

Fuck Louis and Liam for talking him into that stupid holiday in Bournemouth.

And fuck Harry for bewitching him, for making Niall fall in love with him, for making Niall believe in true love again.

Fuck Zayn while he was at it.


	20. you’ve got a friend in me

Louis opened the door, surprised to see Harry standing on the other side, dripping wet in the hallway.

“Jesus, Harry,” he said, moving aside to let the taller lad in, “come in.”

Harry walked into the flat and Louis rushed to get him a towel before running to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

“Thanks, Lou,” said Harry, drying his dripping hair with the towel. “It’s pouring.”

“Yeah, let me see if I can find you dry clothes,” said Louis. “Reckon something Liam’s got will fit you.” He rushed away again, heading into Liam’s bedroom, and Harry followed a minute later. Louis found joggers and a hoodie and handed them to Harry. “Get changed, yeah, and I’ll go make you a cuppa.”

“Thanks,” said Harry again, waiting for the door to close before he began to undress, towelling dry and changing into Liam’s clothes. He emerged a few minutes later, hair tucked up in the towel, and found Louis in the kitchen.

“What’s up, Haz? How was work?” asked Louis, setting the teapot down on the breakfast bar. He sat down on one of the stools and Harry did the same, waiting for Louis to pour his tea before adding sugar and milk.

“It was good. I made _so_ many cookies,” he said, stirring his tea. “Just don’t want to go home yet.”

“Niall got a lesson today?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “And then he’ll probably go to the pub.”

“What?” asked Louis. “It’s Wednesday. Nialler never goes to the pub on week nights.”

“Yes, he does,” said Harry. “He does now, anyway. After his lessons.”

“Without you?” asked Louis, a little surprised.

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Does he- does he text you to, like, meet him there or anything?”

“No,” said Harry, voice a little wobbly. “He just goes by himself. And then he comes home late.”

“What time?” asked Louis. “Like, how late?”

“Sometimes- sometimes half eleven,” Harry told Louis. “I hear him when he comes in and he wakes me up. He’s not very good at being quiet when he’s drunk.”

Louis looked at Harry, incredulous. “He comes home _drunk_?”

“Yes,” said Harry, tears in his eyes now. “And sometimes- sometimes he… touches me and I don’t _want_ to make love when he’s drunk.”

Louis blanched and tried not to think about two of his best friends having sex. “Does he- He doesn’t make you do anything, does he, Harry?”

“No,” Harry told him, silent tears on his cheeks now. “He stops when I- when I ask him to but then he gets- he gets _grumpy_ and mean and says I don’t really love him.”

“What the fuck,” said Louis angrily.

“‘What the fuck’ what?” came Liam’s voice from behind them, surprising both boys. “Hey, Haz.” He seemed to notice the boy’s tear-streaked face and asked gently, “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“What’s wrong,” began Louis, sounding properly pissed off, “is that Niall has been going out drinking after work and coming home to Harry at midnight drunk.”

“What?” asked Liam, looking from Louis to Harry and back.

“ _And_ ,” continued Louis, even more worked up, “sometimes he tries to get Harry to fuck”—Harry blushed bright red beside Louis, looking embarrassed—“and gets mean when Harry says he doesn’t want to fuck.”

“Harry, he doesn’t _force_ you, does he?” asked Liam, sounding horrified at the thought.

“No,” Louis answered for him. “He stops but he tells Harry—”

“He says that I don’t really love him,” said Harry, finally interrupting Louis to speak for himself, “because if I really loved him, I would make love to him.”

“That’s _not_ true,” said Liam. “You do _not_ need to have sex with someone to prove that you love them.”

Louis nodded vehemently. “When did this start, Haz?” he asked the boy kindly, reaching to take one of Harry’s hands in his own. “Niall coming home at half eleven all drunk?”

“When I got my job. So, like, three weeks ago, I guess?”

“Three weeks?” asked Liam, sounding surprised. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, voice wobbly again. “What if”—he started to cry, fat tears rolling down his cheeks now, and Liam moved forward to tug the boy into his arms—“what if Niall doesn't love me anymore?”

“I don’t- I don’t think that’s it,” said Louis, eyes narrowed as though piecing something together. “I think Liam and I should have a chat with him.”

“No! Please, Lou!” said Harry, wiping his tears on Liam’s shoulder. “He’ll be mean and grumpy and I don’t want him to know I told you.”

“That’s _exactly_ why we need to talk to him,” said Louis. “You don’t realise it, and Niall probably doesn’t either, but he’s being emotionally abusive. And I think I know why.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, Harry’s crying the only sound. “I really do love him, you know,” said Harry finally, weary and a little broken.

“We know, Harry,” said Liam kindly, pulling back and reaching out to pull the damp droopy towel off Harry’s head carefully. “Do you want to stay here tonight? Can sleep on the sofa.”

“Niall will be mad,” said Harry, shaking his head almost frantically. “He’ll think I _really_ don’t love him if I don’t go home tonight.”

“Nah,” said Louis, combing his fingers through Harry’s messy hair and smiling at the boy. “I’ll text him later. Say ya came over after work and fell asleep on the sofa watching telly. It’ll be okay.”

“O-okay.” Harry nodded. “Can I- can I have the _Toy Story_ blanket?”

“Of course, Harry,” said Liam. “And I’ll wash your clothes so they’ll be clean for work in the morning.”

“Thank you,” said Harry bashfully.

“You’re welcome, Haz,” said Louis.

Liam called to order pizza for delivery and Harry moved to the living room to find _The Great British Bake Off_ on television. The three sat on the sofa watching the show and eating pizza, Harry curled up between them wrapped up in Liam’s old _Toy Story_ blanket.

At around half eight, Harry did, indeed, fall asleep on the sofa. Liam tucked him in, making sure the alarm on Harry’s phone was set so he wouldn’t be late for work, and put Harry’s floury clothes in the wash.

“So what’s up with _that_?” asked Liam, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and looking at Louis where he sat at the breakfast bar eating a piece of room-temperature pizza, and gestured with his head toward the living room.

“I have a theory,” said Louis. “I think Niall liked being the _provider_ , taking care of Harry. Gave him a sense of purpose, made him feel like a good old-fashioned husband or something.”

“And then Harry got a job,” said Liam, catching on.

“And then Harry got a job,” agreed Louis. “And suddenly Harry maybe wasn’t as dependant as he’d been. You know, Niall doesn’t need to leave him money in the morning to buy groceries or get new shoes or a sandwich.”

“But Niall’s not controlling,” said Liam, feeling a little confused.

“I don’t think it’s about control,” mused Louis. “I think it’s more about, like… he liked caring for Harry and feeling needed. Maybe even like he was the most important person in Harry’s life.”

“And now he doesn’t,” said Liam, “so he’s pulling away.”

“Right.” Louis nodded. “He’s doing the same thing Zayn did and I’m not going to watch him break Harry like Zayn broke Niall.”

“You’re probably the best friend anyone could have,” said Liam after looking at Louis fondly for a few moments, walking past the boy to grab a piece of pizza and stopping to drop a quick kiss to the top of Louis’ head. “Knew I loved you for a reason.”

*******

Niall felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, expecting to find a text from Harry asking when he would be home. Niall _knew_ he was pulling away, knew he was forming a gap between Harry and himself, but distancing himself for the situation seemed like the only way to avoid total heartbreak when Harry left him; he’d pull away first, make it a clean break.

Except it wasn’t clean.

He looked at his phone and read a message from Liam—“Harry’s staying at our’s tonight. Came over after work and fell asleep on the couch watching _GBBO_. Didn’t want to wake him, I think he had a long day.”

Good, he thought. He didn’t need to stay out too late, then.

Just as he was about to put his phone back in his pocket and down his pint, it vibrated again, this time with a message from Louis—“We need to talk to you, mate. Meet us at the Starbucks across the street.”

“Across the street?” Niall said under his breath. Were they really _across the street_? What the fuck?

“Why?” he texted back.

“Just come here. We’ve got you tea and a chocolate chip cookie,” Louis answered.

Niall laid a twenty pound note on the bar and stood up, pulling his coat and hat on and walking toward the door.

A few minutes later, he entered Starbucks and found Louis and Liam at a table.

“How did you even know where I was?” he asked by way of greeting, dragging out a chair and sitting down. Liam pushed a paper cup of tea and a small paper bag with a cookie toward him. “This isn’t even proper tea,” he muttered, irritated.

“Lucky guess,” said Louis, responding to Niall’s question and ignoring his whiny remark.

“What are we talking about?” asked Niall, sourness in his tone. He had a good idea what they wanted to talk about but he didn’t want to let on.

“Harry,” said Louis bluntly.

“What about Harry?”

“He thinks you don’t really love him,” answered Louis.

“I don’t,” said Niall, as nonchalantly as if he’d just told them that he hadn’t really enjoyed the last movie he’d watched.

“What?” asked Liam quietly, sounding unsure that he’d heard Niall correctly.

“What the _fuck_ do you mean, ‘I don’t’?” asked Louis angrily.

“I don’t really love him,” said Niall simply. “It’s just a charm or a spell or something. Magic.”

Louis and Liam both looked at him as though he’d gone a bit mad. “What the fuck are you on about?” said Louis.

Niall took a sip of his tea, still nonchalant. “It’s not _true_ love. He’s bewitched me,” explained Niall, though it seemed to do nothing to clear up Louis and Liam’s obvious confusion. “It’s magic. Like, a thrall or a charm. Mermaid’s sing to seduce human men, you must know the legends.”

“No, I’m not familiar,” said Louis dryly. “Enlighten me.”

“Merrow-men are ugly and mean. That’s the legend and Harry says it too,” began Niall. “So mermaids prefer human men. And they, like, entice them with their beautiful voices.”

“Mmm,” hummed Louis, looking unimpressed. Beside him, Liam still looked confused.

Niall continued. “The mermaids would, like, bewitch the men and take them to live under the waves.”

“Yeah, well, Harry didn’t take you back to the ocean,” Louis pointed out.

“No, because he lost his seacap and couldn’t go back,” said Niall, sounding like he was losing patience with his friend.

“So you think he tricked you into loving him,” said Louis flatly.

“Yes!” exclaimed Niall, pleased that Louis seemed to be catching on. “He sang in the shower when I brought him back to the guest house.”

“Why though?” asked Liam, finally speaking again. “Why would he do that, trick you into loving him?”

“He needed a place to stay and, like, someone to take care of him,” said Niall.

“ _Ooooohh_ ,” said Louis, sudden understanding dawning on him. “You think Harry’s _using_ you.”

Liam frowned. “Harry would _never_ do that,” he said, so certain, shaking his head. “He’s, like, the sweetest person and that’s just- it’s mean.”

“It’s just in his nature,” said Niall, shrugging and breaking off a piece of his cookie.

“Maybe- maybe Harry’s voice is one reason you love him but I don’t think it’s- I don’t think it’s the _only_ reason,” said Liam. “If he was a regular human with a really great voice, you’d still be attracted to him.”

“But Harry’s _not_ just a regular human,” said Niall.

“No,” conceded Liam. “But I think there are a lot of other things you love about Harry. Other than his voice.”

“Harry’s the love of your life, Niall,” said Louis, voice a bit softer than it had been so far but still firm, “and you’re the love of his life. We see you two together. We see how you look at each other. But Liam’s right. Maybe his singing was the first thing that made you fall in love with him, but that's not why you’re _still_ in love with him. You know that Niall, I know you do.”

Niall shook his head resignedly and, for a moment, Liam and Louis thought he was going to finally agree with him.

“No,” he said, a bit sadly. “He used magic to get me to fall in love with him.”

“Niall, it’s not like Merope Gaunt. She used a love potion to get Tom Riddle to fall in love with her because that was the only way she could get him to fall in love with her,” said Liam, hoping to convince Niall that Harry hadn’t ensnared him in some kind of superficial, magical love. “You would have fallen in love with Harry anyway, Niall.”

“Actually, Liam,” said Niall, eyes widening, the boy’s words seeming to have the opposite effect on the blonde, “it’s _exactly_ like Merope—”

“Oh, for God’s _sake_ , Niall!” exclaimed Louis, frustrated. “ _And_ Liam! This isn’t a fictional character in a book! This is a real life person with real life emotions.” He turned to Niall and pointed his finger at him, almost threatening. “ _You_ need to get your shit together, mate.” He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee. “Fucking Harry Potter! You’re such nerds!”

A few minutes passed in silence, the three lads drinking their coffees and tea.

“This isn’t even why we wanted to talk to you,” said Louis, more calm but still serious. “What the fuck’s up with you going out and getting pissed every night after work?”

“Did Harry tell you that?”

“No, I’m psychic,” said Louis sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Of course he did. Came over after work and cried his poor little heart out.”

“You didn’t- You haven’t”—Liam leant forward and lowered his voice to a whisper, nervous—“ _raped_ him, have you?”

“Jesus! _Fuck_ , Liam!” shouted Niall, and the two people sitting in the armchairs across the cafe turned to look. “ _No_!” he hissed, leaning closer to his friends. “What did he _tell_ you?”

“He said that you come home pissed and wake him up. And when you try to get him to fuck and he doesn’t want to, you tell him he’d do it if he really loved you,” said Louis, looking Niall straight in the eyes.

Suddenly, Niall looked ashamed. He felt hot, guilty, angry with himself for everything he’d said and done—and neglected to do—to Harry.

“I just,” said Niall, voice a bit shaky and fragile, “I love him so much and I don’t- I don’t want him to leave me.”

“Niall,” said Louis slowly, clearly trying to figure out what he wanted to say, “I don’t know what you’re thinking. Just a- just a minute ago, you were saying that you think… Harry bewitched you so he could come to London and live with you and now”—he narrowed his eyes, thinking—“you’re saying you don’t want him to leave you, like you think he might.”

“He will. It’s- it’s inevitable, really. It’s what all mermaids do. What his mum did,” said Niall, still sounding sad. “I realised it a few months ago. He was homesick all the time, crying every night and talking about his mum and his old life constantly. And I knew that I’ll never- I’ll never be enough for him. To keep him here.” Niall looked away from his friends, wiping a tear from his eye with a shaky finger. “And then I thought... maybe I’m not _really_ in love with him, he’s just got me under some spell or something. Hoped it would make it a little easier- when he leaves, just keep that in mind, that it wasn’t real.”

“But it is,” said Liam gently.

“But it is,” agreed Niall, his brows furrowing together and bottom lip shaking as tears began to slip down his cheeks in earnest. “He couldn’t go anywhere, not really. At least not _then_.”

“But he got a job,” said Louis, filling in the blanks with parts of his theory that he realised—despite doubting it a bit while Niall rambled about mermaid legends and bewitchments and Harry’s voice—did fit. “And now he’s not as dependant on you as he was before.”

Niall nodded miserably. “So he can leave now.”

“Like Zayn,” said Louis bluntly. “Only you’re doing it different this time round. You’re pulling away first so it won’t hurt as much.”

“You’re wrong though,” said Liam softly, the angel to Louis’ devil. “He’s not going to leave you, Ni. Harry loves you so much.”

“I’m scared,” whispered Niall, rubbing his hands over his blotchy face.

“Love can be frightening, for sure,” said Louis, gentle and kind now, placing a hand on Niall’s back and scratching his shoulder lightly.

“I think you need to talk to Harry,” added Liam.

Niall finished his tea and grimaced.

*******

Niall walked into his dark flat, the little light above the kitchen sink off because Harry wasn’t home to leave it on for him, and switched on the overhead lights. He took off his coat and hat, hanging them on the hooks by the door, and kicked off his shoes.

He walked through the flat, undressing and throwing all of his clothes in a pile on the floor.

He knew, he thought as he brushed his teeth to get the flavour of Guinness and chocolate chip cookie and bitter Earl Grey tea out of his mouth, that he had to talk to Harry. He was worried that Harry would realise Niall was right, though, that he didn’t need Niall and could make it on his own now that he knew how to take care of himself and had a job.

As he lay down, he realised this was the first time since he’d met Harry four months ago that he’d slept alone. The loneliness seeped into his skin, like the cold of a freezing January morning, and left him gasping for breath, sobs ripping the air from his lungs and replacing it with frosty ice.

It hadn’t hurt this badly when Zayn left and Harry hadn’t even left yet.


	21. george (none of you stand so tall)

“Hey, Pixie,” said Louis, walking to the pastry counter, Liam behind him. “Harry still here?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “He asked to stay a bit later today. I don’t think he wants to go home. He’s been a bit of a mess all day.”

“That’s why we’re here,” said Louis, looking at the pastries in the case. “Thought we’d take him out when he gets off work.”

“I don’t- I don’t really want to _pry_ ,” said Pixie quietly, “but is everything okay? It’s just… I like Harry and he’s too sweet to cry into the _pâte à choux_ all day.”

“Yes,” said Louis. “Just, uh, we’ll call it a little rocky patch in his relationship.”

“Why are there so many éclairs today?” asked Liam curiously from behind Louis.

“ _That’s_ what Harry’s been making with the _pâte à choux_ ,” she said, pointing at the platter of perfectly glazed éclairs in the case. “ _Please_ buy some! He’ll be heartbroken if they’re all still here at the end of the day.”

“We’ll take a dozen, boxed,” said Liam, “and a pot of Yorkshire Red, please.”

“Give us two more for here, while you’re in there, Pixie,” said Louis, watching as the girl opened the pastry case and reached in for the pastries.

Louis and Liam sat, drinking their tea and eating éclairs, and waited for Harry to finish for the day.

“Where are you taking him?” asked Pixie as she wiped down the sandwich station and wrapped the little containers of sliced cheeses and meats and lettuce and tomatoes with cling film. “You said you were taking him out after he got off work.”

“Thought we’d go to get him a new tattoo, if he wants,” said Liam, looking at the girl and finishing his tea.

“Good,” she said, lips quirked in a small smile. “That’s good. He likes his tattoos a lot. It’ll cheer him up.”

The sound of Harry’s awkward coltish footsteps filled the room as he tripped up the stairs to the cafe. He saw Liam and Louis sitting at the table nearest the counter and said happily, “You bought éclairs!”

“Yeah.” Liam nodded. “Bought a dozen to take home too. They’re delicious.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. “I just learnt how to make the dough for them today. It has a funny name. It means cabbage paste.”

“Weird,” agreed Louis. “You off yet?”

“Yes,” Harry told his friends. “I cleaned everything up down there, Pix,” he said, turning to the girl. “I don’t know if you’ll need to bake anything else because you’ve only got another hour until you close but I left the ovens on just in case.”

“I’ll just tell them to buy éclairs,” she joked, giving Harry an amused smile.

“Okay,” said Harry, missing the playful teasing.

“Hey, Haz,” said Louis, “you want to go see George?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. I know what I want to get.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Harry told Liam and Louis. “George will make it look so nice!”

The boys said goodbye to Pixie, leaving with their box of éclairs and heading to Harley Street. They walked into the tattoo parlour, greeted by the lovely girl named Donna who worked as the receptionist of sorts.

“George?” she asked, smiling at the three boys.

“If he’s free,” said Liam. “Just Harry today.”

“Let me go find him,” she said. She returned a minute later with the burly artist.

Harry described the tattoo he wanted, flipping through books filled with pictures of other tattoos George had done and scrolling through website after website to find different bits and pieces he wanted to incorporate into the piece. He missed the unsure, questioning looks Liam and Louis gave each other, eyebrows raised in what was maybe a touch of concern.

“Do you think- do you think that’s the best idea?” asked Liam, sounding a little worried. “I mean, right now?”

“Niall might not, you know, might not really… like that too much,” added Louis.

Harry pouted. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly. “Niall can talk about his family and Ireland and his old home whenever he wants but if I even mention that I’ve lived anywhere before I lived here, he gets all grumpy.”

Liam and Louis were quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” said Liam, nodding. “You’re right, Haz. It’s not fair.”

“Niall has loads of pictures of his mum around our flat and I don’t have any,” Harry told his friends, a little sulky. “So I’m going to get this tattoo because it’s the closest I can get to a picture of my mummy.”

“Go on, then,” said Louis, gesturing toward where the artist was now standing with a sketch.

Harry declared the illustration perfect and, a few hours later, was gazing down at the mermaid tattooed on the side of his left forearm.

“It’s _wonderful_ , George,” he told the man. “It looks just like my mum.”

George was a kind man and never asked too many questions, for which Liam and Louis were both thankful, because, although George was quite open-minded and accepting, it seemed a bit much to expect him to believe Harry was a mermaid who’d become trapped on land.

They left the parlour, Liam and Louis insisting on going back to Kilburn with Harry; though they didn’t admit it to Harry, they were curious to see if Niall was home because Harry had mentioned earlier that Niall didn’t teach any music lessons on Thursday evenings.

They arrived to find Niall not home yet but left at Harry’s insistence, with a promise that he would text if Niall wasn’t home in an hour.

Harry decided to make dinner, looking through the cabinets and refrigerator and finding they had enough leftover meatloaf to make sandwiches—someone had left a comment on Jamie Oliver’s meatloaf recipe mentioning that it was the _perfect_ meatloaf for sandwiches and Harry had tried it, finding he and Niall had both loved it.

He thought a nice, quiet night would be good, peaceful and relaxing and calm. He put on Nick Drake’s _Pink Moon_ , an old album he’d found at the record shop on Kilburn High Street where Niall had bought him his first record a few months before. It had really lovely art on the cover, he’d thought, and had bought it because of that but he’d soon found the music was equally as lovely, even if a little sad.

He set about making sandwiches, slicing the meatloaf and smearing bread he’d brought home from work a few days earlier with mayonnaise and putting sliced red onion and lettuce on top. He thought maybe root beer floats would be nice for dessert so he would go down to the convenience store a few blocks away to buy some root beer.

He turned off the record and grabbed his wallet and keys, locking the door before leaving the building.

After a short walk to the store and back to the flat, Harry unlocked the door and found Niall standing just on the other side, hanging his coat and hat on the hooks.

“Niall!” breathed Harry, feeling elated and a bit dizzy with it. “You’re home!”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall, giving the boy a sad little smile, heartsick with the realisation that he’d been so neglectful and abusive—because that’s what it was, emotional abuse—but Harry was still so happy to see him. “I’m home.”

“Oh! This is _wonderful_!” said Harry and Niall’s heart beat a little faster from the snow-white purity of Harry’s joy. “I’ve made sandwiches. They’re meatloaf! And I bought root beer for ice cream floats. _Ohh_ ”—he crossed the room to the record player, turning it on, quiet and low—“Nick Drake!”

“Oh, pet,” said Niall, moving forward to cradle Harry’s face in his hands, gazing into Harry’s green eyes, “I didn’t break you.”

A look of confusion settled on Harry’s face. “Break me?”

“You’re still so lovely,” whispered Niall, thumbing over Harry’s bottom lip. He leant forward and pressed a sweet, innocent kiss to Harry’s lips.

“You’re- you’re lovely too, Niall,” said Harry, honesty in his tone.

“No, I’m—”

“Shhh,” hushed Harry, placing a finger to Niall’s lips. “You are. Now let’s go eat.”

Niall studied Harry’s face for a moment before nodding. “Okay, pet, let’s go eat.”

They sat at the table, sandwiches on their plates, as Nick Drake’s “Know” played, soothing and melancholy.

“ _You know that I love you. You know I don’t care. You know that I see you. You know I’m not there_ ,” sang Harry and Niall felt his heart clench, the relevance of the lyrics hitting him even though he wasn’t quite certain Harry knew how deeply the words fit their current situation.

Or maybe they just expressed _his_ perception of his little Harry-centric sliver of the world.

The next song began to play and Niall asked Harry a question he realised, with a sharp pang, he hadn’t asked in weeks.

“How was your day, love?”

Harry looked up from his sandwich with wide eyes and Niall was reminded _again_ of how much he’d neglected Harry over the last few weeks.

“It was- it was good, I s’pose,” he said, swallowing his bite of meatloaf. “I learnt to make éclairs today.”

“Really?” asked Niall.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I made loads of them. Louis and Liam bought a whole box!”

“You saw the lads today?”

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry. “They came to get me after work.”

“Why were they out of work early?” asked Niall curiously.

“Well, I stayed late. To make éclairs,” Harry told the blonde. “And they took half days so they could come see me and ch”—Harry caught himself, about to say _cheer me up_ , and changed his course—“take me to see George.”

Niall’s stomach churned. “Get a new tattoo?” he asked, trying to sound calm and interested, like he wasn’t a bit nervous at the possibilities.

“Yes,” said Harry.

“What, um, what’d you get, love?”

“My mum,” said Harry, happy, a fond smile on his lips. “It’s so perfect. George made it so pretty. It looks like her.”

“Your mum?” asked Niall, trying to keep the expression on his face and the tone of his voice neutral.

Harry nodded. “You have- you have so many pictures of your mum and she’s so lovely. She looks so kind and she has the same eyes as you, Niall. It makes me miss my mum.”

Niall felt the sudden urge to smash all of the pictures of Maura that were scattered around the flat, break the glass of the frames and burn the photos. Maybe he would do that.

And then Harry was rolling up the sleeve of his jumper and peeling off the bandage.

“Jesus, it’s _huge_ ,” said Niall upon the first glimpse of the tattoo. “Takes up the whole bloody side of your arm.”

“It’s not- it’s not that big,” said Harry, a little defensively.

“Yes, it is. And it’s so… dark. Sticks out like a sore thumb, all black against your skin,” said Niall. His cool was gone now, replaced by something stronger than irritation and dislike, something he couldn’t identify until he said loudly, “ _Fuck_. It’s ugly and I hate it.”

Harry’s lips trembled, tears shining in his eyes, and he looked away from Niall quickly. “I don’t think- I don’t like you very much right now,” said Harry quietly, tears dripping down his nose and cheeks as he looked at his knees. “I still love you so much and it’s silly and it’s stupid and it makes me feel- it makes me feel a bit daft. It hurts and you’re being very mean and I _still love you_ and I’m such an idiot.”

Niall stared at the top of Harry’s head, his hair in a messy bun, and felt the boy’s words pounding in his head, tearing at his brain and heart and chest.

Before Niall could say anything, could clear the white-hot pain from his thoughts, Harry pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Turning to Niall with his blotchy, tear-streaked face, he said sadly, “I’m going to see Liam and Louis because they still make me happy.”

He walked to the door, slipping his feet into a pair of boots and putting on his coat. “It’s funny,” he said, though his face showed that he felt the opposite, turning the doorknob to open the door. “I thought Louis and Liam were going to be mean to me when I first met them. But now you’re the one breaking my heart.”

He stepped out the door and pulled it closed, Harry’s final words echoing in Niall’s head. _You’re the one breaking my heart. You’re the one breaking my heart._

Niall stared at the door for a few moments, trapped in time and stuck to his chair with a crippling mass of emotions he couldn’t even begin to name, just a heavy weight on his shoulders and lap and chest.

The fear won out, shoving the other emotions to the bottom of the endless depth of _feelings_ —fear of losing Harry, of breaking his heart and shattering his innocence and stupidly naive unconditional love that Niall didn’t deserve—and rushed to the door, pulling it open with so much force it crashed against the wall.

The hallway was empty and so was the staircase and the second floor corridor and the _next_ staircase and the first floor corridor and the pavement in both directions.

Of course they were. Niall wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting at the table wading through the quicksand in his brain but it was obviously long enough for Harry to leave the building and probably make it to the bus stop.

He climbed the stairs back to the third floor.

_I don’t like you very much right now_.

*******

Harry was glad his earbuds were in his coat pocket because he didn’t much fancy hearing everything around him. He plugged them into his phone as he waited at the bus stop, opening Spotify and searching for The Last Shadow Puppets.

He got on the bus, ignoring the pitying eyes the middle-aged lady across the aisle was giving him, and listened to Alex and Miles. It was as he boarded the tube at Kilburn Station that “I Don’t Like You Anymore” came on, the song playing through his earbuds.

_I don’t like you anymore. You’ve fallen for the faux again. Enticed me for a second time today only for me to realise the same. You’re cracked and your face is changing…_

He started to cry again because he was such a foolish idiot. No matter how much Niall hurt him, he still loved him madly.

Yes, he thought as he got off the train at Neasden Station, it was a bit mad. All of it.

He walked to Liam and Louis’ building, taking the lift to the ninth floor. He knocked on the door of flat 928 and was greeted a moment later.

“Hey,” said Liam and then, after taking in Harry’s miserable state, pulled the lad into his arms. “Haz, love.”

Tucked into Liam’s arms, Harry started to cry in earnest, heavy tears soaking Liam’s shoulder and loud, painful sobs racking his chest.

“Li, what’s-” said Louis, appearing from his bedroom. “Oh, no.” In an instant, he was next to the two boys, arms around them both. “Oh, no,” he said again. Harry’s breath was fast now, uneven and harsh. “Babe, Harry, breathe with me. Please, Haz.” He placed a hand on the side of Harry’s face and turned it toward his own, making eye contact with Harry’s bloodshot eyes, green and stormy and _hurt_. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Come on, Haz. In… and out, nice… and slow.”

Harry’s breath began to steady out, Liam’s hand rubbing soothingly against his back until they had him calmed enough to move to the sofa.

Louis went to the kitchen to make tea and Liam sat with Harry, dragging the boy into his side and draping the old _Toy Story_ blanket over Harry’s shoulders.

Louis brought tea to Harry and sat on the sofa on his other side. He gently tugged Harry’s hair from the messy bun that was rather lopsided and droopy now, combing through it with his fingers before braiding it, a rope of thick hair along the back of Harry’s neck.

Finally, Harry spoke. “He hates it.” Neither Louis nor Liam said anything, just waited for him to continue. “It was so nice. He was home on time and I made meatloaf sandwiches. I got back from buying root beer—we were going to have floats for dessert—and he told me I was lovely and asked me how my day was. He hasn’t asked me that since I started my job. And I showed him my tattoo and he said it was big and dark and he said- he said, ‘It’s ugly and I hate it.’”

Louis twisted the end of Harry’s braid and Liam rested his head against the top of Harry’s.

“I told him- I told him I don’t like him very much right now because he’s being very mean and I said I’m silly and stupid”—Louis gave a little _tch_ from beside him—“because I still love him so much.”

The sat in silence a while longer, Harry sipping his tea and wiping tears from his face occasionally.

“Why did you get a job, Haz?” asked Louis quietly a bit later.

“I want to be a proper human, not a stupid, silly mermaid,” said Harry, “so I can have a happy-ever-after life with Niall.”

“You should tell Niall that,” said Liam.


	22. becoming

Niall woke up alone in his bed, Harry’s side empty and cold for the second night in a row. It took him a few moments to realise that he maybe wasn’t alone in the flat though.

He sat up, the room still dark because it was only just past four o’clock, and heard quiet crying from the other side of the dividing curtain. Harry must have come home sometime after he’d fallen asleep the night before.

He rubbed his eyes, sure they were still bloodshot and puffy; Harry hadn’t been the only one who’d spent the evening crying because Niall had cried himself to sleep after Harry left, face tucked into Harry’s pillow.

He turned, placing his feet on the cold hardwood floor, and took a few breaths before standing and walking around the bed. He slid the curtain aside and stepped into the main space of the flat. His eyes fell on Harry’s body, curled up on the sofa and illuminated by the full moon and the streetlights outside the windows.

Niall didn’t think his heart could break any more than it already was but seeing Harry lying on the sofa, so fragile and vulnerable, and hearing his gentle, hiccuped sobs proved he’d been wrong.

“Harry?” he whispered. “Love?”

Harry rolled over, away from Niall, and pressed his face into the back cushion of the sofa.

“Love?” said Niall again, voice breaking. He walked closer until he was at the edge of the sofa. He wasn’t really sure how Harry would react but he decided he’d take a risk and sat on the cushion by Harry’s curled-up legs. He laid a hand on Harry’s thigh, just above his knee, and stroked with his thumb. “Harry, I know you said you don’t like me right—”

“No,” sniffed Harry, voiced muffled in the cushion, “I don’t like you but- but I love you and it hurts and I don’t”—he hiccuped and rubbed his face into the sofa—“I don’t know why you don’t love me anymore.”

“Oh,” said Niall on a rough exhale, his lip shaking as he tried to keep himself from crying. “Harry, pet, I love you. I _do_ love you. So much.” Harry didn’t move so Niall continued. “I’ve been so worried- so worried that you’ll… leave me.”

“Like _him_ ,” said Harry, turning his face slightly so his words weren’t quite as muffled. “Like Zayn.”

“Yeah,” admitted Niall after a moment, breath shaky. “Like Zayn.”  

“Well, I’m not- I’m not Zayn,” said Harry quietly. “I’m Harry.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “You’re Harry.” They were silent, Niall’s thumb tracing circles on Harry’s leg. “I thought- I thought you were going to leave me when you learnt how to take care of yourself. I was scared when you got a job because I knew- I knew you could save money and then move back to Bournemouth. Get a job at one of the bakeries there.” Niall looked at Harry’s face, still half-covered with sofa cushion. “And forget about me.”    

Harry rolled onto his back and pushed himself up a bit, leaning back against the arm of the sofa, the knees of his long legs tucked up under his chin. “Why would I do that?” he asked quietly, tear-stained face curious. “Any of that? Why would I- I could _never_ forget you, Niall.”

Niall sighed. “Because of the legends. Mermaids _always_ long to return to the sea and- and the mermaids who still have their _cohuleen druiths_ go back. Like your- like your mum. And I—”

“I’m not my mum. And I’m not just a legend. I’m a _real_ person, Niall,” said Harry and the blonde was reminded of Louis’ words at Starbucks not even thirty-six hours before—“This is a real life person with real life emotions.” He should have realised what Louis meant then, that he’d not just been referring to Harry Potter but the mermaid legends on which Niall was basing all of his concerns because, in retrospect, the only thing _Harry_ had done to worry Niall was act homesick.

“I’m Harry,” the boy said again. “I’m Harry and I love you and I’m not going to leave you.”

“I didn’t think you really loved me,” admitted Niall. “I thought you… seduced me. With your mermaid voice, you know. I thought you bewitched me so I would fall in love with you. So I would bring you back to London with me and you would have a place to live and- and someone to take care of you.”

Harry looked at Niall for a minute with an unreadable expression, though Niall was pretty sure Harry was hurt, wanted to yell at him for assuming he’d been _using_ Niall, that Niall thought he was that mean and cold-hearted and _selfish_. But his expression changed to a small smile that softened his eyes, fondness glowing bright.

“I think you fell in love with me all on your own, silly boy,” said Harry, mild amusement and maybe a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I’m pretty and nice like mermaids but I think you forgot that I’m a _man_. Merrow-men don’t have as much magic as the mermaids. I got a _little_ magic because my father’s a human and it gets a little mixed up, I suppose. Maybe my singing has a little magic in it but not enough to bewitch you.”

And yeah, thought Niall, maybe he hadn’t thought about that.

“Why did you get a job and learn how to be a proper human if you don’t want to leave me?” asked Niall.

“I didn’t think you were stupid, Niall, but here you are proving me wrong,” said Harry, though Niall could tell Harry was teasing him. “I want”—Harry suddenly seemed serious, like he wanted Niall to know he meant what he was about to say—“I want to have a happy-ever-after life with you. I want to take care of you just as much- just as much as you take care of me. I want a life with you because I love you _so much_. More than every drop of water in the sea.”

Niall wasn’t sure when he started crying but Harry reached out to wipe the tears from Niall’s cheeks with his thumbs before leaning forward and kissing Niall on the lips, a gentle touch that turned into a passionate kiss. Harry stretched his legs out and pulled Niall into his lap, pulling the boy against him with his large hands on the blonde’s slim hips, long fingers pressing into his bum.

“Let me take care of you, Niall,” whispered Harry against Niall’s lips.

Niall gave a little whimper, eyelids fluttering as he opened them to look at Harry. “Yes, please, Harry.”

Harry spun on the sofa, his feet flat on the floor, and slid his hands down to cup Niall’s bum. He stood, lifting the boy into his arms, and Niall wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist.

“Yes, please, Harry,” said Niall again, this time a plea. He tipped his head forward to press his lips to Harry’s again, kissing him hard and sweet, hoping Harry could tell how much he wanted this, how much he needed this—needed Harry to take him apart and put him back together with gentle touches and tender kisses and innocent, eager love.

Harry pulled away after a moment and began to walk slowly, carefully, to their bed.

“Niall,” said Harry, dipping his head down to place kisses along Niall’s jawbone, “ _I’m_ going to take care of _you_ tonight.” He hoped Niall knew what he meant, in every sense, and that Niall would still enjoy it if Harry topped because they’d always done it the other way around when they made love, with Harry taking Niall—taking Niall’s love, really, and Niall’s gentle touches and soft praise and attention and affection—but tonight he wanted to give everything to Niall.

“I’m going to take care of you, Niall,” Harry told Niall, laying him out on the bed. “You take care of me every day, always, but I’m going to take care of you tonight. And whenever- whenever we make love because I want you to feel calm and safe, like how- how you make me feel always. I want you to _feel_ how much I love you, so you never forget. You’re going to be my little kitten, Niall, and I’m going to take care of you.”

Niall looked up at Harry, eyes wide and mouth agape, because there was a _shift_ now. Since the day they met, Harry had been submissive and accommodating— _Yes, Niall_ and _Thank you, Niall_ and _Please, Niall_ —and he still was that lovely little mermaid, sweet and gentle and eager to please, but now he was defining his submissiveness, claiming it and presenting it to Niall, the gift of himself and his desire to care for Niall and love him; he controlled himself, commanded himself, and everything he did for Niall was because he wanted it to be for Niall, whether it was a gentle _Yes, please, Niall_ or a more commanding _You’re going to be my little kitten, Niall_.

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall breathily. “Yes.”

“I’m going to undress you, kitten,” said Harry, voice soft and even. “And then I’m going to kiss you everywhere because you’re so beautiful and I want- I want you to know that.”

“Please, Harry,” sighed Niall.

Harry pulled off his own clothes quickly, discarding his jeans and baggy jumper and white tee and pants in a pile on the bedroom floor, and then turned his attention back to the blonde.

“You’re so beautiful, Niall,” he said, joining Niall on the bed and moving toward the boy. With gentle hands, Harry pulled Niall’s blue sweatshirt over the blonde’s head and then slipped his long fingers into the waistband of his pants. He looked at Niall’s face and bent forward, kissing the soft flesh of Niall’s tummy just above his boxer briefs and trailing his lips over the bumps of his hip bones, before shimmying the pants down Niall’s legs.

“You’re already hard, Niall,” said Harry, noticing Niall’s erection, the head glistening with precum.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, breathless. “You’re- _Fuck_ …” He trailed off, overwhelmed with the desire to have Harry inside of him, stretching him and filling him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” said Harry, placing wet kisses to Niall’s inner thighs and groin and tummy, leaving Niall’s wet cock untouched, “everywhere.”

Harry’s lips moved from Niall’s tummy to his chest, licking the pale flesh as he moved up and stopping to tongue over Niall’s nipples. He continued up, worshipping the length of Niall’s throat and covering Niall’s jaw and cheeks with kisses.

After a few lazy kisses to Niall’s pretty pink lips, Harry leant back and said quietly, “I’ve got to open you up, kitten. Spread your legs, be a good boy.”

“Oh, _God_ , Harry,” whined Niall, Harry’s simple _be a good boy_ affecting him tremendously, and dropped his knees down to the mattress.

“So perfect,” cooed Harry. He reached for the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube, coating his fingers with some of the slippery liquid. He sat between Niall’s spread legs, his own long legs folded underneath him, sitting back with his bum on his heels. “Are you ready, kitten?” he asked, smoothing a lube-slick hand up Niall’s thigh and down under his arse, cupping the blonde’s round bum in his large hand.

“Yes, please, Harry,” begged Niall, “God, _please_.”

“Shh, kitten,” said Harry, pulling Niall toward him and propping the blonde’s bum up on his thick thighs, “I’ve got you.” He slid his right hand down between Niall’s arse cheeks and found his tight hole, tracing the edge lightly with a lubed finger, the ghost of a touch. Finally, after what felt like hours or maybe minutes of beautiful torture, Harry put the very tip of this middle finger in Niall’s hole, wiggling it from side to side slightly and feeling the tiniest stretch. Harry pressed his finger in deeper, past the first knuckle and almost to the second, and Niall moaned.

“Is that good, love?” asked Harry, looking at his boy lying in front of him on the bed.

“Yes, so good, Harry.”

“I’m going to add another finger, kitten,” Harry told him, pressing his index finger in beside the middle finger. He worked it in slowly, wiggling it and pumping in and out of Niall shallowly, and earned a whine from the blonde. “Are you ready for three, love?”

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes,” moaned Niall. “Please, please, I want you to stretch me, Harry.”

“Yeah?” choked Harry, erection giving a pulsing throb.

“Please, fill me up.”

“Yeah, kitten,” said Harry, voice dark and rich in a way Niall had never heard it before. “I’m going to stretch you”—he added a third finger, more quickly than he’d added the second, and began to fuck Niall, slow and deep—“and then I’ll fill you up with my thick cock. Would you like that, kitten?”

“Y-yes,” stuttered Niall, eyes closed tight as Harry spread his fingers and sped up his rhythm a bit, fucking Niall more quickly with his long fingers. “Stretch me and fill me. I want to feel, _oh_ , to feel you inside me. I need- I need to feel like I’m yours,” he admitted.

“You _are_ mine, Niall,” said Harry sincerely. “Nobody else’s. _Just mine_ ,” he growled and Niall was too turned on to be shocked by the traces of dominance lacing Harry’s voice. “Gonna show you- gonna show you you’re mine,” he said, pulling his fingers from Niall’s clenching hole and adding some lube to the messy precum-coated head of his cock. He gave himself a cursory stroke, spreading the lube and precum down his length before placing the tip to Niall’s open hole.

Slowly, Harry pressed his cock into Niall, feeling the boy’s hole relax and open to allow Harry inside.

“Oh my… _God_ , Niall,” groaned Harry, head dropping. “This feels- This is so—”

“So fucking _incredible_ ,” whined Niall.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, breath heavy. “I didn’t know it felt like this.”

“So fucking incredible,” said Niall again. “ _Please_ , Harry, move. Please.”

Harry pulled back, only the head of his dick still in Niall’s hole, and pushed back in, starting a steady pace. He rocked his hips, in and out and in and out, deep strokes maddeningly slow and _perfect_.

“Niall,” whispered Harry, voice hushed as he looked down at his boy, “you’re so beautiful. You’re so lovely.”

“I love you, Harry,” said Niall, opening his eyes to meet Harry’s.

“I love you, Niall,” he said, eyes pleading with Niall to _understand_. He thrust into Niall again and again, hands gripping Niall’s hips, the blonde’s thighs still draped over Harry’s. “I love you so much and, _oh_ ”—he groaned, hips stuttering as Niall’s hole squeezed around his length—“are you mine, Niall?”

“Oh, Harry, _yes_ ,” moaned Niall. “Yes, I’m- fuck, I’m going to- going to—”

“Going to cum, baby?” asked Harry, movements speeding up. “Going to cum because you’re mine?”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, _God_ ,” whimpered Niall. “Tell me, Harry.”

“You’re mine, Niall,” said Harry, voice rich with a possessiveness that blended smoothly with the sweet innocence always in Harry’s tone.

“O-oh, Har-Harry,” panted Niall, eyes falling shut as he reached his orgasm, cum streaking his stomach and leaving him shuddering on the mattress while Harry gripped his hips and continued to rock into Niall’s fluttering hole.

With a few final thrusts, Harry pulled Niall to his body, hips grinding against the boy while he filled him with cum.

“Oooh,” moaned Harry, eyes closing as his body was wrung of the last aftershocks of his orgasm. After a few deep breaths, Harry pulled out of Niall’s hole, watching as a bit of his cum trickled out.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Niall,” he whispered and before Niall could ask what, exactly, he was sorry _for_ , he added, “I- made you all messy. I didn’t- I didn’t pull out of you before I- before I came.”

“That’s okay, love,” said Niall, giving Harry a sweet smile and reaching up to rub his arm lightly. “I liked it. I like that.”

“It just seemed like- I don’t know _why_ but it seemed like”—Harry hesitated, eyebrows knit in thought, almost like he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying or maybe didn’t know how to say what he was feeling—“I was making you _mine_.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall breathlessly, “that’s what- that’s what it felt like.”

“I’ll clean you up and then we’ll cuddle,” said Harry after a few moments of silent contemplation.

“Okay, Harry,” said Niall, smiling as the taller lad stood from the bed and headed to the bathroom.

They lay in bed a few minutes later, Niall clean and cuddled against Harry’s long body while the boy whispered sweet praise—“You’re the sweetest little kitten, Niall,” said Harry. “You’re so lovely and your freckles are so beautiful. I love you.”—and traced his fingers up and down Niall’s hip and outer thigh.

It was so nice, thought Niall as he drifted to sleep in Harry’s warm arms, to let Harry take care of him.


	23. white lights are classy

Harry walked beside Louis up the stairs to the third floor, following Liam and Niall, who were carrying—dragging, really—an almost two and a half meter tall fir tree.

“This is so _cool_!” said Harry to Louis, gleeful and bright. He raised a mittened hand to brush some snow-covered hair back into his beanie. “We’re having a Christmas tree in our flat!”

“Yeah,” agreed Louis, looking at the boy. “’S’not fair though,” he added, glaring at the back of Liam’s head. “ _Ours_ is barely two meters tall. Hardly taller than me!”

“Oh, _please_ ,” said Liam, rolling his eyes. “It’s, like, half a meter taller than you. And it didn’t feel short when I was the only one dragging it up to the ninth floor.”

“We have a lift!” exclaimed Louis. “And I’m not that short!”

“Can I put the star on top?” asked Harry, interrupting Liam and Louis’ bickering.

“Course, love,” said Niall, dropping his end of the tree to the floor and unlocking the door to their flat.

“Coloured lights or just white?” asked Liam.

“ _We’re_ not boring, Liam,” said Harry, joking. “ _We_ have colours because we’re fun.”

“Did Niall tell you to say that?” Louis asked, eyes narrowed at Harry.

“Nope, my boy knows that white lights are boring,” said Niall proudly.

“White lights are classy,” said Liam, sounding a little offended.

“Okay, Liam,” said Harry, placating.

With help from Harry and Louis—who claimed to be an _expert_ at telling when Christmas trees were perfectly straight—the lads placed the fir tree in the tree stand in the corner near the windows, wrapping strands of lights around the tree and hanging decorations from the branches.

“It’s so beautiful!” said Harry as he stood by the large windows that looked down to the street blanketed with snow, hanging an ornament on a high branch. “Now everyone can see that we’re having a very happy Christmas!”

“Yeah, love,” Niall agreed. “The happiest Christmas.” He walked to Harry and wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling Harry’s back to his front, and kissed him on the neck.

“You two are sickening,” declared Louis.

“I think they’re sweet,” Liam said.

Louis shrugged. “Same thing.”

“ _Home Alone_ , then?” asked Niall, turning from Harry’s back to face their friends.

“Obviously,” said Louis, rolling his eyes.

“Tradition, isn’t it?” asked Liam.

They sat on the sofa, Harry curled into Niall’s arms and Louis with his head rested in Liam’s lap—their usual positions, really—and watched the Christmas movie. Harry’d been delighted when he learnt that Joe Pesci’s character was named Harry and laughed at Kevin’s antics, all of his boobytraps and tricks; Niall leant into Harry whenever he saw him giggling with his hands over his mouth in that way that he found so endearing, kissing him on the cheek.

While Harry watched the movie, engrossed in the story, Niall thought about the past year.

A year earlier, almost to the day, Niall had lay in bed with Zayn, crying himself to sleep after the lad told him he felt trapped, that he wanted to travel and see the world and leave London behind. Leave Niall behind, though he’d not said that.

He was amazed how much had changed in a year, how it _didn’t_ hurt anymore. He’d been drowning in heartache and pain for months—even _before_ he woke up alone in his bed with a note on the pillow telling him Zayn had left, he knew—and suffocated by the weight of his sorrow.

And then he’d met Harry and been scared and heartbroken again, worried to love and hesitant to _be_ loved. He’d pushed Harry away, left him neglected and alone because he’d not talked to Harry, had assumed he knew what Harry thought and felt and had forced his assumptions into the mold formed and left behind by Zayn.

But Harry hadn’t left. He’d showed Niall what unconditional love— _romantic_ unconditional love—felt like, whether out of naive innocence or stubborn determination, Niall wasn’t sure. He’d stayed, even though _he_ was heartbroken and suffering a pain Niall knew too well.

And he loved his silly, determined mermaid so much it was a bit dizzying.

The movie ended a bit later and Niall realised he’d missed half of it. It didn’t matter, he supposed, because he’d already seen it about twenty times. Liam, Louis, and Niall finished their beers, Harry stealing sips off of Niall’s like a naughty child, and talked about their families coming to visit for Christmas; unlike past years when they’d all gone home for Christmas, their families were coming to London to visit for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day.

The Odd Couple left at around eleven o’clock, leaving Harry and Niall at the door with plans to meet the next afternoon at Black Treacle after they’d each finished their individual Christmas shopping.

As soon as the door was closed, Harry turned to Niall, eyes bright and cheeks a little flushed because he still got a tipsy from half a beer, and took Niall’s face in his hands.

“Let me take care of you, Niall,” said Harry, voice low and sweet and sticky like treacle, words that had become equal parts plea and command. “I want you, kitten. I need to show you how I love you.”

“Yes, Harry,” whispered Niall. “Please.”

“I’m going to fuck you so good,” said Harry and Niall shivered. “Show you how much I love you. Show you that you’re _mine_.”

“Please show me, Harry,” begged Niall.

“Bedroom,” said Harry, taking a step back from the blonde, and Niall nodded.

They made their way to the bedroom, walking behind the curtains that separated the small space from the rest of the flat, and Harry said, voice a smooth blend of sweet and commanding that Niall had realised was an expression of a beautiful paradox—Harry was so innocent and soft and submissive yet, when they were in their bedroom, his desire to take care of Niall in a way he’d come to feel most confident and capable brought out a gently dominating and sweetly possessive side that neither had known existed until the first time Harry had topped—“Take off your clothes, kitten. I want to see how beautiful you are.”

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall obediently, because he loved to give himself over to Harry, to relax and put all of his trust in Harry. He stripped and stood in front of Harry where the taller lad now sat at the foot of the bed.

“Come here, kitten,” said Harry softly, a fond smile on his lips.

Niall stepped toward Harry, moving to stand between Harry’s long legs, and Harry reached up to caress the side of his freckled face.

“You’re so lovely,” Harry told him. “I love your freckles.”

“Thank you,” said Niall quietly, a dusty pink blush colouring his cheeks.

“What do you want, love?” asked Harry.

“I want- I want to suck your cock, Harry,” answered Niall.

“Yeah, love?” asked Harry, dragging his thumb over the soft flesh of Niall’s bottom lip and watching the movement intently.

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall. “Please, I want to suck your cock. I love it.”

“All right, love,” said Harry, granting Niall the permission he craved. “Take off my jeans and my pants, yeah, and then you can suck my cock.”

Niall nodded and reached out for the fly of Harry’s skinny jeans, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. Harry pulled off his shirt, throwing it toward the pile of Niall’s clothes on the floor, and leant back onto his elbows to watch Niall undress him.

Niall pulled the jeans down Harry’s long legs, dropping them on the floor, and then tugged on the waistband of his pants. Harry’s thick cock popped out, slapping against his tummy before standing erect between his legs.

The blonde looked to Harry’s face and, with a tilt of his head toward his hard cock, Harry said, “Go on, love. Be a good boy for me.”

Niall knelt between Harry’s legs, the lad’s heavy length mere inches from his face, and grasped the base with his left hand. He looked up at Harry through his lashes and leant forward, licking the tip with a few short flicks of his pink tongue before taking the whole head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the thickness.

Harry moaned and Niall took Harry in deeper, moving his head farther down Harry’s cock to take in nearly all of his length.

“So good,” said Harry sweetly, brushing his knuckles against Niall’s cheek. “You can take more, love.”

Niall bobbed his head and relaxed his jaw, pushing far enough that all of Harry’s cock was in his mouth, the head hitting the back of his throat.

“I’m going- _ohh_ \- I’m going to fuck your beautiful mouth now, kitten,” Harry told him, voice still soft and honey-sweet. “Just how you like it. Just for you, love.”

Niall moaned, the vibrations urging Harry on, because he _did_ like it, _loved_ having his mouth fucked, really. Harry’s hand moved down to Niall’s head, fingers weaving in his blond hair, and held him still while he began to thrust into Niall’s mouth, smooth and shallow strokes giving way to quicker, harsher jabs.

Niall pressed a hand to his own erection and happily allowed Harry to fuck his mouth, feeling his drool and saliva dribble from his lips and down his chin.

“Oh, fuck, kitten,” groaned Harry, scritching the back of Niall’s head with his fingernails, “your mouth is perfect. You’re drooling so much. _Uhh_. You’re my good- oh- good boy. My little kitten.”

 _God_ , thought Niall, he would gladly gag on Harry’s thick cock forever if it meant praise and pet names and head scratches. Although, he realised, he got all of that anyway, just _different_.

“Niall, stop,” said Harry, dragging Niall out of his own head, lost in the feeling of letting Harry use him that really felt more like being given something he’d always wanted. “Stop, kitten. I don’t want- don’t want you to swallow me down.” With a light tug, Harry pulled Niall back, his drool-covered cock popping out of the boy’s mouth.

Niall leant back on his knees and looked up at Harry, watching as he dragged his long body back and positioned himself in the centre of the bed. Propped up on his elbow, Harry told Niall, “Come up here, love.” He patted the mattress next to his hip. “Want you to ride me.”

“Yeah,” breathed Niall, because that was good too. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, turning onto his hands and knees and shuffling across to Harry.

“Come on, love,” said Harry sweetly, reaching for the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, and patted his hip. Niall moved to Harry and straddled him, skinny legs on either side of the bigger lad’s hips. “Lie down, yeah, on my chest. Going to open you up for me.”

Niall followed Harry’s instruction, lying down and pressing his chest to Harry’s. A moment later, Niall felt Harry’s long arms come around behind his back, hands cupping his bum and kneading the softness before he slipped his long fingers between Niall’s pert arse cheeks and found his tight entrance.

Harry pressed his finger to Niall’s hole, tracing the rim with just enough pressure to drive Niall insane, already turned on just from the face-fucking he’d received minutes earlier.

“Har-Harry,” he whimpered. “ _Please_. Just- I need you.”

“Shh, kitten,” hushed Harry. “I know what you need. I’m going to take care of you, love.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Niall, voice muffled as he turned his face into Harry’s neck, pressing kisses to the boy’s throat.

Harry pushed his index finger in, working it in rather quickly and drawing a long moan out of Niall. “Yeah, love,” whispered Harry, lips against Niall’s ear. He began to fuck Niall with quick, rough strokes of his finger. “I know what you want, kitten. Hard and fast because you’re a good boy and you love taking my cock.”

“Yes, Harry,” moaned Niall, pushing his bum back to take all of the second finger Harry was adding beside the first. “Love your cock always. Love how you fuck me so good.”

“Greedy,” chuckled Harry gently, swatting Niall’s bum lightly with his free hand and scissoring his fingers, stretching Niall a bit more. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you, love?”

“ _Please_ ,” whined Niall.

“Up, baby,” said Harry, pulling his fingers from Niall’s arse abruptly. “Up. You’re going to ride me now.”

“ _Ooooh_ ,” groaned Niall, pushing himself up from Harry’s chest and moving back a bit to allow Harry space to slick his cock with lube.

Hand around the base of his cock, Harry tilted his head toward his length. “Well,” he said, voice deep, “come on then.” Niall lifted himself up and, with Harry’s hand on his hip, lined himself up over Harry’s cock. Slowly, he sat back, sinking down onto Harry’s hard cock bit by wonderful bit, eyes closed in bliss.

Fully seated, Niall began to lift his hips up and down, dragging Harry’s length nearly all the way out before dropping back down to take him in completely.

“God, oh, God, Harry,” babbled Niall, head thrown back as he fucked himself on Harry’s cock, “so good. So perfect. Fill me up”—he panted and gave a little whine—“fill me up so good.”

“Yeah, kitten,” grunted Harry, taking Niall’s slender hips in his hands and helping him bounce up and down, “you’re so beautiful. So lovely. My beautiful- my beautiful good boy.” He fucked up into Niall hard, jostling the boy in his lap. “Love you so much, kitten.”

“Love you, Harry. God, so much,” whimpered Niall. “ _Please_ , Harry. Please can I touch myself?”

“I’ve got you, baby,” cooed Harry, moving one hand from Niall’s hip to his leaking erection. “I’ll take care of you, love.” Harry’s large hand wrapped around Niall’s length, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “I’m going to fill you up, baby. Make you all messy how you like. Leave you- _uh_ \- leave you leaking out onto the sheets all- oh, _fuck_ , kitten- leaking all night.” His hips sped up, fucking up into Niall faster and rougher, and jerked Niall’s cock more quickly to keep rhythm. “Won’t let you clean up ‘til morning.”

“Oh, _fuck_ , Harry,” choked Niall, near-sobbing as his orgasm overtook him, cum painting Harry’s stomach and chest with streaks of white.

Harry cupped the back of Niall’s neck and dragged him down, pressing a firm kiss to the blonde’s mouth. “Going to fill you, kitten,” he moaned against Niall’s lip. “Fill you so good. _Fuck_!” His hips stuttered to a halt, hand on Niall’s neck holding him down as he came. “Love you, kitten. I love you.”

Niall kissed Harry, slow and thorough, feeling Harry’s heart beating quickly in his chest. “Love you too, pet,” he whispered, smiling against Harry’s lips.

After a few moments, Harry wrapped his arms around Niall’s back and rolled them over, laying Niall on the mattress and slipping his softening length from the boy’s lax hole.

“All messy and soft, just how you like it,” said Harry, voice sweet with praise. “Leaking like my good boy, kitten.” Harry pressed a finger into Niall’s loose rim, fingering him slowly, languid and lazy, overstimulation a dull throb at the base of Niall’s spine, until the boy’s eyes slid shut, relaxed and content.

Niall wasn’t even really sure, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, if Harry knew that his behaviour while they were being intimate—his confidence that, rather than being cocky and demanding, made him a sweet, gentle dominant whose primary concern was to _take care of_ and _care for_ his submissive rather than simply _control_ him, a trait Niall knew would make him a perfect Dom if they ever decided to take it that far—was exactly what Niall had always wanted but had never received in his previous sexual relationships; he felt cared for, emotionally and physically, and so loved.

Niall was also quite certain that Harry had no idea that the filthy things he did—fucking Niall’s mouth and fingering his own sticky release out of Niall’s arse as the blonde fell asleep, leaving him to sleep in cum-damp sheets, and whispering the dirtiest things Niall had ever heard—were considered kinky because he _knew_ that Harry didn’t know what _kinky_ meant or that it was different from simple _vanilla_ sex.

“Good night, kitten,” whispered Harry, pulling his fingers from Niall’s arse and wiping them on the sheets.

“G’night, Harry,” sighed Niall.

*******

Niall woke up, Harry tucked into his side, his cold feet pressed against Niall’s calves. He lay for a while, admiring his beautiful boyfriend, face smooth with peaceful sleep.

“Harry, love,” he said after about ten minutes, tugging the boy into his body even closer and kissing his forehead. “Love, wake up!” He kissed him again and Harry’s lips quirked up into the tiniest smile. “Wake up, Harry!”

“Mmmm,” hummed Harry, nuzzling his chilly nose into the hollow of Niall’s neck. “You’re warm.”

“Yeah, and you’re all cold-blooded like a fish,” chuckled Niall.

“Warm me up,” whispered Harry, fluttering his eyelashes against Niall’s neck and pressing a kiss to a freckle on the blonde’s throat.

Niall groaned. “If I warm you up the way I want to, we’ll be in bed all day.”

“That’s okay, Niall,” said Harry sweetly, kissing another freckle. “Let’s stay cozy in bed all day.”

“We’ve got to get up and get ready so we’ll be done with our shopping in time to meet the lads.”

“You don’t need to buy me a gift, Niall,” said Harry, dragging his lips up Niall’s throat to kiss another freckle. “You love me and that’s all I want for Christmas.”

“Harry, pet, I’m getting—”

“I’m just so happy because I know that you really love me, Niall. And you _trust_ me now because you know that I love _you_ and it’s just- it’s just perfect,” said Harry, sighing. “You believe that I’m in love with you and that I’m not- that I won’t ever leave you.”

“Yeah, Harry,” agreed Niall, feeling a little stunned by the realisation that Harry felt it was a gift that Niall _let_ Harry love him—he supposed love _was_ a gift, giving that piece of yourself to another and trusting them with your heart—as if Niall would ever consider _not_ letting Harry love him again, like he’d done just a month earlier when he’d tried to push Harry away. “But I’m still buying you a Christmas—”

“ _No_ , Niall,” said Harry firmly, pushing himself up onto an elbow so he could look down at Niall, “just promise that you’ll keep being in love with me too.” Niall reached up to stroke Harry’s cheek and saw his eyes glimmering with tears. “Promise that you’ll always tell me when you’re sad and that you won’t get- you’ll let me talk about my mum and everything when I’m sad and homesick. That’s all I want, Niall. I just want you to love me.”

“Oh, pet, I love you so much,” whispered Niall, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek and realising he had tears on his own cheeks. “I promise I won’t hurt you again. I won’t push you away like I did before. I want you to always be happy, Harry.”

Harry leant forward, pressing his lips to Niall in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“I’m still getting you a gift,” said Niall against Harry’s full lips. “Now let’s get up! I’ll make toast if you get in the shower,” he singsonged, tickling Harry’s ribs lightly, trying to bribe his boyfriend with apricot jam.

“Okay,” sighed Harry, pushing himself off the bed and stretching his long body before walking behind the curtains and toward the bathroom.

They left the flat about forty-five minutes later, headed in opposite directions, three slices of toast spread thick with butter and apricot jam in Harry’s large hands.

*******

Bobby and Maura arrived at Heathrow from Dublin on Christmas Eve day, both texting Niall as they made their way to Kilburn despite the fact that they were in the same taxi. They arrived at Harry and Niall’s flat at around eleven o’clock.

There was a knock at the door and Harry looked up from the ham he was so carefully glazing, a bit nervous because he was meeting Niall’s _mum and dad_ , and then to Niall. Niall gave him a little reassuring smile as he dried his hands on the nearest dish towel.

“Come on, love,” he said, walking closer to Harry and offering him a hand. Harry wiped his hands on his apron and slipped one into Niall’s, moving toward the door with the blonde.

Niall opened the door and smiled at his parents, bags at their feet and hats dusted with snow. “Ma!” he exclaimed, reaching out with his free hand to hug her to himself, not dropping Harry’s hand because he just didn’t want to let go. “Da!” he said, releasing his mother and hugging Bobby.

He pulled back and said quickly, “Ma, Da, this is—”

“You must be Harry,” said Maura, turning to Harry.

“Yes, I am,” said Harry.

“Well, come here, love.” She gave Harry the same lovely smile that Niall always did and reached out to pull him into a hug.

A huge smile lit up Harry’s face, his dimples deep. “You have happy eyes like Niall,” he told her, hugging her back.

“Harry,” said Bobby from behind his ex-wife and Maura released Harry from her arms and took a step back. Bobby extended a hand to the boy, shaking Harry’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice- it’s nice to meet you too.”

“Yeah, this is Harry,” said Niall. “Now let’s go inside because this hallway is cold and Harry’s timer is beeping.”

They stepped into the flat and Harry moved to the oven to check the macaroni and cheese.

“It smells wonderful in here, Harry,” said Maura, following Harry to the kitchen while Niall helped Bobby carry their bags in. “Do you need any help cooking or with the washing-up?”

“Oh, no, Mrs.—”

“Maura, please, love,” Maura insisted.

“O-okay,” said Harry. “No, thank you, Maura. I’m okay. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll turn on the kettle.”

“That would be lovely,” she told him, smiling and taking a seat at the dining table.

Niall and Bobby joined Harry and Maura in the kitchen, Bobby sitting down with Maura while the boys set tea. Harry put some fresh scones on a plate and set them out with a bit of jam and butter, pleased and blushing slightly when Maura asked him if he’d made them and, on hearing that he had, told him they were the most delicious scones she’d ever tasted.

They sat in the kitchen while Harry and Niall cooked and cleaned, long after their tea was gone, asking Harry all about how he was finding life on land; Niall had already told his parents about Harry—that they’d met in Bournemouth while Niall was out for an early morning walk along the beach and had found Harry, naked and lost, and learnt that he was a mermaid who’d lost his _cohuleen druith_ —and Harry was glad that both Bobby and Maura believed Niall, seemingly without many questions or much doubt.

“You look like a proper mermaid,” said Maura fondly. “You’re a beautiful lad. It’s no wonder Niall’s fallen head over heels.”

Harry blushed. “Thank you, Maura. I love- I love Niall quite a lot too.”

Maura insisted she help Harry finish the cooking, shaping dough into buns for ham sandwiches and arranging Harry’s beautifully decorated cookies and fudge squares on platters, while Bobby and Niall set up a folding table to offer a place for their guests to sit and eat and moved the armchairs into the bedroom to make a bit more standing room and space for the folding chairs Niall had borrowed from the music studio.

Louis and Liam arrived to the flat, their families in tow—Louis’ mum and stepdad Dan and all of his siblings and Liam’s parents and his sister Nicola—at about half seven.

Alexa stopped by for a bit with her boyfriend Alex, bringing a bottle of red wine and laughing as Harry’s face grew more and more pink with each sip until Pixie led a giggly Harry to Niall; he kissed Pixie’s cheek in thanks and turned into Niall, nuzzling his flushed face into the blonde’s neck.

After everyone had eaten their fill of dinner, the ham nearly gone and the dishes of macaroni and cheese and roasted brussels sprouts and potato gratin empty, they sang Happy Birthday to Louis, Maura cutting the beautiful chocolate cake Harry had made special for his best friend.

Everyone was gone by midnight, leaving Niall to tuck a sleepy Harry into bed before pulling out the trundle bed for Bobby and making up the pull-out sofa bed for Maura.

Niall finally climbed into bed, cuddling up to Harry, and kissing his ear.

“Hmm,” hummed Harry happily. “I love your mummy and dad, Niall,” he whispered. “They’re so lovely, just like you.” Harry rolled over, facing Niall, eyes heavy with wine and sleep. “I hope they- Do you think they like me?” he asked, a little nervous.

“Yeah, love, o’ course they do,” said Niall. “You’re perfect. I think it’s impossible to _not_ love you.”

Harry smiled, a big smile that showed too much teeth, and said quietly, “I’m _so_ happy, Niall. I have a family now and it’s wonderful.”

“It is wonderful,” agreed Niall, kissing Harry’s cheeks and nose. “God, I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, mouth still smiling wide, as he said, “I love you too, Niall.”

Harry dropped off to sleep, content and warm in Niall’s arms, the blonde running his fingers through Harry’s long hair.

Muffled sounds from the main area of their flat woke Harry up several hours later. He pushed himself up and brushed hair out of his face, startled for a moment—Niall was still lying next to him asleep but _someone_ was moving around in their kitchen—before he remembered that Maura and Bobby were out in the flat.

And then he remembered that it was Christmas morning, his _first_ Christmas morning as a human. Too excited to fall back asleep even though he knew it was still early, he leant over to kiss Niall’s cheek before sitting up. He pulled on some socks and left the bedroom.

Stepping into the main area of the flat, he saw Maura in the kitchen, the light above the sink casting a pale yellow glow. He moved past Bobby, still asleep on the trundle bed Niall had moved out to the other side of the bedroom curtain, and walked to the kitchen.

“Happy Christmas, Maura!” said Harry quietly.

“Oh, Harry!” whispered Maura, turning to the boy. “Happy Christmas, love.” She moved toward him, wrapping him in a hug and kissing his cheek. “Jeanie Mac, you’re cold!” she exclaimed.

Harry blushed, though Maura couldn’t see in the dim light. “Niall always- Niall says I’m cold-blooded, like a fish.”

“Let’s get you a cuppa, warm you up proper,” said Maura with a smile, bustling about to turn on the kettle and set up the teapot.

“Thank you,” he said, following her and sitting at the table, following her unspoken command—a tilt of the head, raised eyebrows, and an expectant smile—correctly.

Maura moved around the small kitchen, making French toast and eggs and bacon and tea, refusing Harry’s help when he offered. “You sit down, you lovely boy. You did enough yesterday.”

Tea made and breakfast cooked—“We’ll just heat it up whenever those two dossers wake up,” said Maura with a grin—she joined Harry at the table.

“Do you miss it, Harry?” asked Maura after a few minutes. “Your home?”

“This _is_ my home,” said Harry, honest, without a trace of sorrow in his voice or on his face.

“Your old home?” she amended. “In the ocean?”

“I miss my mummy a lot,” Harry told her. “And sometimes I miss the ocean because it’s really quite beautiful. But it’s better here. It’s _happier_ here. I have friends and I never had friends before, in the ocean. I didn’t really fit in there. I was alone most of the time.”

“Is that why you came to shore? To make friends?”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding. “I wanted to meet Niall because he seemed so nice and lovely and I just- I just wanted a _friend_. I didn’t think- I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with him.” Harry sighed quietly, a tiny smile on his lips and a glimmer in his eyes. “It’s so beautiful, being in love.”

“You’re the love of Niall’s life, Harry,” said Maura sincerely after a few sips of tea. “Ya know, he really is head over heels for ya.” Harry blushed, face a bright pink, and Maura added softly, “Why don’t ya go wake him up? Remind him it’s Christmas morning and we’ve got gifts to open.”

“Oooh!” Harry inhaled sharply, eyes widening. “I forgot about _gifts_!” Harry pushed his chair back from the table and stood, walking to the bedroom and slipping behind the curtain.

He dropped onto the bed, crawling over the mattress toward Niall.

“Niall,” he whispered. “Niall! Wake up, kitten!” He leant down and kissed Niall’s forehead, then down his temple and across his cheekbone. “Wake up, kitty! It’s Christmas.”

“Harry,” sighed Niall, turning into Harry and pressing a kiss to his boy’s lips. “Happy Christmas, pet.”

“Happy Christmas, Niall!” said Harry, grinning from ear to ear. “Maura’s made breakfast and she said it’s time to open _gifts_. Wake _up_ , kitten!”

Niall got up, dragging Harry to his chest and studying his face. He laid a hand along the side of Harry’s cheek, fingers lightly stroking his jaw and earlobe and thumb tracing his defined cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful, Harry. How did I get so lucky that I met you and you fell in love with me?” he mused.

Harry smiled softly and slipped his hand into Niall’s. “Breakfast,” he said quietly, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to Niall’s mouth, before tugging the boy into the flat and toward the kitchen.

They found Bobby sitting at the dining table, a plate filled with French toast and bacon and eggs in front of him.

“Happy Christmas, lads,” he greeted the boys, looking up from his plate.

“Happy Christmas, Bobby,” said Harry shyly.

“Happy Christmas, Da,” said Niall, walking with Harry to where Maura stood by the stove. “Happy Christmas, Ma.” He hugged his mother tight, giving her a light peck on the cheek.

“Yes, Happy Christmas,” said Maura, sounding a little impatient but giving her son a smile that showed she wasn’t really bothered by his lie-in. “Now it’s time for breakfast and gifts. I told Johannah and Karen we’d be there by two o’clock and I’m meant to be bringing lasagna so we’ve got to hurry up.”

“Ma, it’s not even nine,” said Niall, rolling his eyes. “Got plenty o’ time.”

“Hush,” chided Maura, setting a plate of food in front of Niall where he now sat at the table.

An hour later, they all sat in front of the Christmas tree, open gifts on the floor and coffee table and wrapping paper and ribbons scattered around the floor.

“But Harry,” asked Niall, looking at the record in his hands, “how did you _get_ it?”

“Alexa’s friends with Matt Hitt. And Matt’s best friends with Justin, you know,” said Harry and Niall nodded. “I told her one day that you love The Vaccines and she said she’d ask Matt to get their autographs. He gave her this instead. I hope- I hope you like it.”

“Harry, love, it’s- it’s a master copy of _English Graffiti_ in a sleeve- in a sleeve they all signed,” Niall stated. “It’s- it’s _incredible_ , pet.”

“Makes our gifts look a bit shit,” said Bobby, chuckling.

“Oh, no!” Harry’s eyes widened, a feeling of guilt flooding him. “I’m _sorry_! They’re wonderful gifts too! I’m sure Niall loves—”

“Harry, son, it’s okay,” Bobby told him, a kind smile on his face. “Christmas isn’t a competition. As long as everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, a bit uncertainly. “Okay.”

“Now it’s your turn,” said Niall, handing Harry a small box tied with a big gold ribbon. Harry took the box eagerly and carefully slid off the ribbon, keeping the bow intact, and then ripped off the paper. He lifted the lid of the box and found, covered in tissue paper, a drawing of an anchor.

“Niall?” he asked, looking from the box to his boyfriend. “Is this—”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall, nodding. “I went to George and he drew it. He said it’s, um, it’s the anchor they found at the wreck of _Queen Anne’s Revenge_. So he tried to draw it- He drew it how it would have looked before it was all rusty and covered in barnacles and shells and stuff.”

“Niall,” breathed Harry, lifting the paper from the box and looking at it. “It’s wonderful.”

“Good,” said Niall, letting out a relieved breath. “Um, I’ve set a time too. Friday evening, after I get out of work.”

Harry scooted down the sofa, closing the gap between Niall and himself, and wrapped his arms around the blonde. “Oh, _thank you_ , Niall,” he whispered, kissing him on the cheek. “I didn’t think you would like it.”

Before Niall could respond to Harry, Bobby looked on with furrowed eyebrows as Maura asked, “What is it?”

“It’s- it’s going to be my next tattoo!” Harry told her, reaching forward to hand her the paper. “Blackbeard’s my favourite pirate and the _Queen Anne’s Revenge_ was his ship. I wanted to get an anchor because I _love_ anchors but I didn’t even know Blackbeard’s anchor was ever found!”

“Why do you love anchors?” asked Bobby, not rude but curious.

“I lived near an anchor, in the sea,” said Harry. “There’s an old anchor off the beaches in Poole where I lived with my mum and the other mermaids. The merrow-men don’t really… settle down and they like the deeper water anyway, but the mermaids make homes. And that was ours, by the anchor. I’d leave sometimes and swim all around the south of England. Poole and Bournemouth were my favourite. But the anchor was my home.”

“Harry, love, why didn’t you tell”—he cut himself off because knew _exactly_ why Harry had never told him about his home near an old anchor in Poole—“That’s sort of beautiful, your home is an anchor.”

“The anchor _was_ my home,” said Harry, taking Niall’s hand and playing with his fingers. “But _you’re_ my home now.”

Niall traced his knuckles over Harry’s cheek. “How did I get so lucky?” he asked again, voice low, gazing dreamily into Harry’s eyes. “You saved me, Harry. I thought- I thought I saved you when you were lost and needed saving. But I was lost and… alone.” He brushed his fingers along Harry’s jaw and sang quietly, “ _I lack the zest of a lemon, looking forward_ …”

“Unless you have a mermaid pushing you?” asked Harry with a little giggle and a wide grin, wiping a tear from Niall’s cheek.

Niall smiled softly. “Something like that.”


	24. honeyed milk

**Book 4**

* * *

 

“This is ridiculous,” stated Louis, opening the back door of Niall’s car and sliding into the seat. “I can’t believe we’re really all going to _squeeze_ into this tiny little car and—”

“It’s not that tiny, Lou,” said Niall. “It’s a Jetta, not a Mini.”

“I’ve got to sit in the backseat with _this_ big lug,” he continued, nodding toward Liam.

“Stop whining, princess,” said Liam, adding both his and Louis’ bags to the boot and opening the opposite door. “It’s only three hours.”

“Yeah, and I don’t understand why it can’t be three hours in _our_ car and not Niall’s,” said Louis irritably, turning to look at Liam.

“Faith said there’s not much room in the car park at the guest house,” said Niall, getting into the driver’s seat and looking into the backseat at his friend. “Doesn’t make sense to take two cars when we only need one.”  

“It’ll be fun, Lou!” exclaimed Harry from the passenger seat. He turned around and peered at Louis and Liam over the back of his seat, a pair of white wide-framed oval sunglasses perched on his nose and an open bag of crisps in his hands. “I’ve got lots of snacks and we can play road trip games!”

“Oh no,” groaned Louis, rolling his eyes. “You’ve not printed out Car Bingo or something, have you?”

“Oooh, no, but that sounds fun,” said Harry, shoving his hand into the bag and pulling out a handful of crisps. “Do you know the picnic game?”

“Oh my God, Liam,” whined Louis, turning to look at the lad.

“Only three hours,” said Liam with a little smile.

“I’m _not_ playing the picnic game for three hours.”

“We can play ‘would you rather?’ too,” said Harry, handing the bag of crisps to Liam and starting on his handful.

“Why don’t we just listen to some music to start?” suggested Niall gently, turning on the engine and handing Harry the auxiliary cord. “Didn’t you make a playlist for the drive?”

“Yes!” said Harry, pulling his phone from his pocket and plugging it in. He opened the Spotify app and said happily, “It’s called _Harry and Niall’s Wonderful Anniversary Adventure Playlist_.”

“Is that like _Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist_?” asked Louis, suspecting he knew the answer.

“Yes! I love that movie!” Harry told him. “It's too sweet.”

“It’s not even your proper anniversary,” Louis grumbled and Liam nudged him in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a look that clearly told him to stop before he hurt Harry’s feelings.

“Close enough,” said Harry, unbothered. “It’ll be the anniversary of when we first met in just five days.”

“Yup,” said Niall, pulling out of his parking spot and onto the road. “Gonna do the day the same way as last year.”

“You’re going to find Harry lying naked on the beach and walk a mute, stumbling nutter back to the guest house?” asked Louis, tone betraying exactly how ridiculous he thought that seemed.

“No, o’ course not,” said Niall. “Gonna wake up early and have tea. Go for a walk on the beach before the sun’s starting to rise. We’ll go back to the guest house and relax for a bit—”

“Because that all sounds _so_ stressing.”

“And then get lunch at the Spyglass & Kettle before we head to Bournemouth to get some ice cream and stop by Topman for a bit of shopping,” continued Niall.

“Maybe I won’t get raspberry this time,” considered Harry, as though it was a quite serious decision. “Cherry vanilla’s my new favourite.”

“Then we’ll head back to the guest house and take a nap—”

“Yeah, ‘take a nap’ my arse,” said Louis.

“ _That’s_ none of your business,” said Harry, sounding a bit prudish.

“And then to dinner for burgers and Guinness,” Niall finished.

“And more fucking,” added Louis.

“ _Making love_ , please, Louis,” said Harry, scandalised.

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” Louis said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m sure it’s ‘making love’ when you’re both pissed. Niall’s probably got his cock up your—”

“Louis!” squealed a blushing Harry.

“ _Jesus_ , Lou,” said Liam, swatting the smaller boy to his left. “I think it all sounds very sweet. It’ll be a nice day.”

“Thank you, Liam,” said Harry, smiling at his friend and offering him a bag of peanut M&Ms.

After a relatively easy drive filled with music and junk food and a game of “would you rather?” to appease Harry, the lads arrived at the guest house, checking into their rooms—Harry and Niall in Wych Elm again and Liam and Louis in a room called Holly on the first floor.

As Faith led Harry and Niall to their room, the two boys holding hands, she said with a kind smile, “I told you he was your young man.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, squeezing Harry’s hand. “S’pose I knew it even then.”

*******

The next few days were spent at the beach, swimming and lying in the sun. They rented a beach hut one day, enjoying the gas ring that allowed them to have a fry-up with food from the local farmer’s market and cooking utensils they’d borrowed from the guest house.

Harry played with the children, building sandcastles and allowing them to bury him in the sand as they’d done to Niall the year before.

“I’m a mermaid, you know,” he told them one day, voice hushed, “but you can’t tell the grown-ups because it’s a secret.” They’d looked at him wide-eyed, not knowing that, unlike Santa Claus—they’d someday learn he _was_ a legend—Harry _wasn’t_ just a fairytale.

They’d spent a day at the Bournemouth Food and Drink Festival, moving from tent to tent and vendor to vendor, trying different cuisines and sampling a variety of wines and beers and liquors. Harry had loved _everything_ —the food and beverages, the cooking demonstrations and book signings, the live music, and the stands selling local cheeses and fresh produce and jams—and got a bit tipsy from the sips of wines and beers he’d sampled.

On their fifth day, the one year anniversary of the day Niall found Harry naked on the beach, Harry and Niall woke up at half five. They made a pot of Earl Grey and drank their tea, cuddled together against the headboard of the bed, exchanging kisses over their pretty teacups.

Teapot empty, they finally got dressed and left their room, locking the door behind them and walking down the stairs and out the door. As they made their way to Fisherman’s Walk, Harry slipped his hand into Niall’s and beamed at the boy, smile as bright as the sunrise they were about to watch.

They walked along the beach, stopping just past the first set of wave breakers, just where Niall had found Harry, and sat down on the sand. They sat together, Harry between Niall’s bent legs, his back flush to Niall’s chest and head leant back against the blonde’s shoulder. They were silent, the waves gently crashing on the shore and the gulls flying overhead the only sounds.

“I had my mum, under the sea,” said Harry after a while of quiet. “I love her and I miss her so much.” Niall turned his head to kiss the boy’s temple. “But I never had friends or a father or- or a _lover_. I was _so_ lonely. ‘ _Oh, I’m so lonesome on my one_ ,’” he sang the words softly. “And then I met you and- and I’m not lonesome anymore. I’ve got you, and that’s so _perfect_ , Niall! And I didn’t think it could get even _more_ perfect but it did because now I’ve got friends and _another_ lovely mum and I’ve got- I’ve even got a _dad_ now!” Harry rose up onto his knees and turned to Niall, big hands cupping the blonde boy’s face. “Meeting you was- You’re the best thing in my whole life.” He leant forward and kissed the boy, slow and passionate and sweet and so _sincere_.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” breathed Niall against Harry’s lips, eyes closed. “Oh, _God_ , Harry. You’re the most- you’re the most perfect thing in my life. I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t- I don’t _want_ to imagine my life without you.”

“Then don’t,” whispered Harry, smiling. “Just kiss me.”

He did, kisses laced with passion and desire and joy, until they broke apart to watch the sunrise, just in time to see the yellow-orange glow of the sun break through the pink haze of the early morning sky.

They returned to the guest house an hour later, Niall tucked into Harry’s side as they walked back, the opposite of a year before when Niall had led a clumsy Harry to the guest house.

The couple collapsed to the bed, tangled together under the thin sheets.

“I want to taste you, Niall,” said Harry shyly because even though they’d been sleeping together for ten months—sharing a bed for a year—Harry still blushed when they talked about being intimate. “Please, Niall.”

“Oh, God. _Fuck_ ,” said Niall, breathless already from Harry’s bashful eagerness. “Yes, love. Yeah.”

“I’m going to- I want to kiss your bum all over,” he said, still shy and blushing a light pink.

“Just kiss it?” said Niall, teasing, trying to get Harry to say exactly what it was that he wanted to do; he would, once he’d started, would say all the filthy things Niall loved to hear.

“No,” admitted Harry, blush going a bit more red. “I want to- I want to lick it. Lick your little- lick your tight little hole and get you all wet. Maybe- maybe give you a finger”—Niall moaned and Harry finally connected his bright green eyes to Niall’s lust-blown blue eyes—“or two. Maybe three, even, if you take my tongue like a good boy.”

“ _Please_ ,” whined Niall, waiting for Harry’s instructions to take off his shorts and pants. “Harry, please.”

“I’m going to open you up, love,” said Harry, denying Niall a few moments longer. “Open you up how you like. Sloppy wet from my mouth and finger you open. But I won’t- I won’t fuck you yet. Wait ‘til tonight for that.”

“God—”

“Take off your shorts, love, and your pants,” said Harry. “Waited so patiently like a good boy.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” exhaled Niall, throwing the sheets from his body and rushing to take off his clothes.

“Hands and knees, kitten,” instructed Harry, watching the boy kick his boxers away.

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall, returning to the bed and dropping to his hands and knees, bum facing toward Harry.

“Mmm,” hummed Harry, rising up and situating himself behind Niall. He reached forward and cupped Niall’s lovely arse cheeks, firm yet soft and smooth. “Love your little arse, kitten. So beautiful.” He rubbed it, kneading the flesh under his long fingers and big palms for a few moments. And then Niall felt Harry’s tongue, licking a long wet stripe from his balls to the very top of his arse cheeks. “Taste so good for me, kitten. Just for me.”

“Yes,” agreed Niall. “Only for you.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, tonguing at Niall again, repeating the same action and licking from his balls to just below the end of his spine. He moved his tongue toward Niall’s hole, licking over it with short laps, saliva slicking the area between his arse cheeks. After a minute working Niall’s hole, Harry moved his tongue down to Niall’s balls again, tonguing at the heavy weight and tasting the salty sweat.

Niall moaned and dropped his head between his arms and Harry moved his mouth back to the boy’s hole. He licked, drool dripping from his mouth and wetting Niall more.

“So sloppy, baby,” Harry said, voice low and sticky with seduction. He leant forward, front pressed along the length of Niall’s back, and wrapped an arm around Niall’s shoulder, hand in front of Niall’s face. Without needing to be told, the blonde opened his mouth for Harry’s fingers—all four, sending a shiver up Niall’s spine, equal parts threat and promise—and gave a low moan as he sucked them into his mouth, tongue lapping at them and getting them spitty and wet. “Good kitten,” praised Harry.

Finally, when he deemed them wet enough, Harry pulled his hand away from Niall’s mouth and shifted back behind the boy. He gave several licks, tonguing at Niall’s tight hole, before pulling back and spitting, adding more slick to his entrance.

“You ready, kitten?” asked Harry and, before Niall could even answer, he pressed a finger into Niall, thrusting in all the way.

“ _Fuck_ ,” groaned Niall as Harry returned his mouth to Niall’s arse, licking around his finger. Just as Niall had adjusted to one finger in his arse, Harry added a second, as quickly as the first, and began to fuck him quickly, pressing in and out at a harsh pace as he continued to lick between his cheeks.

“Oh, kitten, I’m going to stretch you so good,” said Harry darkly, lips against Niall’s arse, voice like treacle. “Just how you like it, baby.” That served as warning enough, it seemed, before he inserted a third finger and continued the same punishing speed. He spread his fingers, opening Niall more, twisting his hand clockwise and counterclockwise again and again.

All Niall could do was moan and whine, panting as he pushed back on Harry’s hand, silently begging for more with just his actions.

“Do you want _more_ , kitten?” asked Harry, sounding awed, though it had been his plan all along. “You’re such a dirty boy.”

“ _Please please please_ ,” pleaded Niall, fucking himself back onto Harry’s fingers.

“I suppose I can give you more,” mused Harry, “since you asked like such a nice, polite boy.” He moved his other hand to Niall’s arse cheek, spreading him still more and watching as he worked his fourth finger into Niall’s hole. “Fuck, baby, you’re so _tight_. How can you take four fingers?”

“I don’t- I don’t _know_ ,” confessed Niall. “Fuck, Harry, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” said Niall, biting his lip.

“Mmm.” Harry fucked his fingers in, cock hard at the sight of Niall’s little hole stretched around four fingers. “You’re so sexy, kitten. Such a good boy for me.”

“Yes, want to be your good boy.”

“You are, baby,” cooed Harry. “So good.” He dipped his head back down, licking Niall’s arse again and savouring the taste of his sweet entrance. He spread his fingers and slipped his tongue between them, wriggling it to insert it into Niall’s arse. He drooled more, fingers slippery with it, and fucked Niall hard with his fingers and tongue.

Leaning back, Harry moved his tongue to Niall’s balls and began to lick at them, tight and drawn up against his body, signalling his approaching orgasm. He twisted his hand again and gave a firm tug to Niall’s hole, pulling his rim up and opening him more.

“Going to leave you gaping, kitten,” said Harry sweetly, a sharp contrast to the filthy things he was doing to his boyfriend, and rotated his hand to tug down and then turned and tugged up, repeating the movements for a few minutes.

“Har- _Harry_!” shouted Niall, cumming on the sheets beneath him.

“Oh, kitten,” said Harry, fucking Niall with his fingers still, “my fun wasn’t over yet.” He put his face down to Niall’s arse again and licked more, spit running down his hand and dripping off Niall’s balls.

Suddenly, he moved away and tugged his fingers from Niall’s open hole. Niall dropped to the bed, legs splayed as he lay on his stomach, and felt the warm drops of Harry’s release coat his back and bum while Harry moaned; Harry reached down and rubbed his cum into Niall’s skin like some sort of filthy massage oil.

And then Niall noticed, through the fog that clouded his thoughts, that the bed had dipped as Harry stood from the mattress and again as he returned.

“Going to keep you open a bit longer, kitten,” came his voice from behind Niall.

“W-what?” asked Niall, slow to respond. “ _Fuck_ ,” he moaned, long and low, when Harry pressed the tip of a wide dildo to his arse.

“I told you,” sighed Harry, working the dildo into Niall’s arse with little resistance, “I was going to leave you gaping. Got to keep you stretched while we nap, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, too far gone to even think if he wanted it or not. “S’good.”

“Yes,” said Harry, bending forward to kiss Niall from where the base of the dildo rested between his spread cheeks and up his spine to his shoulders and then his neck. “Now sleep, my little kitty.”

Niall drifted to sleep, feeling Harry tapping the dildo occasionally, sending a shiver through Niall. Soon, Harry grew sleepy too, tired from their early morning activities, and fell into his own peaceful sleep.

They woke up a bit later and showered; Niall left the dildo in, at Harry’s command, while bathing—“Want to keep you stretching as long as I can,” said Harry. “I won’t make you wear it out though.”—and dressed to head to the Spyglass & Kettle for a quick lunch before making the short drive to Bournemouth.

A trip to Topman earned Harry a new pair of skinny jeans, a couple more brightly patterned button-down shirts, a cardigan with a large green Tyrannosaurus rex on the front, and a new pair of black boots with little gold buckles.

At the little shop where Harry had tried his first ice cream, Harry decided to get raspberry “for old times’ sake,” though he ordered it in a cone this time.

Back at the guest house, Niall sat on the bed and pulled Harry to stand between his legs. Hands on the boy’s hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into Harry’s hip bones, Niall looked up at Harry and said, voice low, “I’m going to take care of you now, love. Show you how perfect you are.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, that sweet little murmur of Niall’s name that reminded them both who Harry had belonged to since the day they’d met and, in a rather ironic way, who _Niall_ belonged to as well.

Niall reached for the front of Harry’s skinny jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. Fingers hooked over the waistband, he tugged the jeans down Harry’s thighs and then did the same with his tight boxers, revealing Harry’s semi-hard cock.

He slid his hand up Harry’s thigh from where it was clasped around the bunched fabric of the boy’s pants and wrapped his fingers around Harry’s length. Niall stroked it, grip firm but not too tight, and looked up to Harry’s face again, gazing at the brunette through his eyelashes.

“Why don’t you spit on my cock, kitten?” suggested Harry, watching the blonde’s hand move along his cock. “Get it all nice and slick for your han- _ooooh_ ”—Harry moaned as Niall suddenly wrapped his lips around Harry’s thickness and took the entire length into his mouth, deepthroating Harry without warning—“Yes, yeah. _God_ , Niall.”

Niall bobbed his head, moving his lips down to the base to meet his hand where it was still fisted around Harry before pulling back and swirling his tongue around the head. Again and again, he moved down to take Harry in completely and then dragged his pink lips back to the tip.

“Uhhh,” groaned Harry, reaching down to tangle his fingers in the boy’s hair. “So- _fuck_ \- so wonderful. Such a good little- perfect little cocksucker.”

With Harry’s cock down his throat, Niall swallowed, the muscles in his throat tightening and squeezing around Harry.

“Oh my…. _fuck_ ,” moaned Harry as Niall pulled back, hollowing his cheeks to create a bit of suction. “Prettiest mouth,” praised Harry, reaching down and dragging his thumb along Niall’s lips, stretched around Harry’s thickness.

Niall hummed at the praise, the vibrations pushing Harry toward the edge.

“Oh, kitten, keep doing that and I’ll”—Niall deepthroated Harry again, the head of Harry’s cock pressing to the back of Niall’s throat, and Harry cupped the back of Niall’s head in his large hands—“Just stay and swallow.” Harry rocked his hips up, pushing his cock into Niall’s mouth even farther, and then pulled back an inch, cock still heavy on Niall’s tongue, before rutting into Niall’s mouth again, fucking in and out with shallow thrusts.

“Yes, baby,” groaned Harry, head falling back. “ _Fuck_. Swallow me, kitten. I’m- _fuck_ \- I’m cum-cumming.”

Niall whimpered, mouth filled with Harry’s wide cock and thick cum, swallowing it down greedily. He was painfully aware of his own erection, pressed insistently against the crotch of his jean shorts.

“Go on, love,” said Harry knowingly. “Go on and cum in your pants. Messy, yeah, get them all messy.”

Niall pressed down on his cock, still suckling at the head of Harry’s soft cock, and rubbed his hand quickly over himself, orgasm rocking through his body as he filled his boxers with his own release.

Harry took a step back from the bed, his cock falling out of Niall’s mouth, and saw the blonde’s lips were a delicious bubblegum pink and coated with spit and drips of cum.

“Take off your shorts, love, and roll onto your tummy,” said Harry. Niall did as instructed, pulling off his jean shorts and turning to lie on his stomach. “Now I know you’re a sleepy kitty but I’ve got to make sure you’re stretched for me. I don’t want to waste time prepping you tonight and I know you’ve got a tight little hole,” Harry explained, reaching down and pulling Niall’s pants down over the curve of his bum. He moved his hands to Niall’s arse cheeks and pulled them apart, exposing his hole.

“Oh, you’re still gaping for me like a good boy,” he told Niall, sounding pleased and proud.

Niall flushed, burning with a combination of embarrassment and pride.

“Going to keep you like that while we nap again, kitten,” said Harry softly and, again, Niall felt a lubed toy pressed into him—this time a buttplug that gave a satisfying _popping_ sensation when the widest part stretched him and was sucked into his eager hole. Harry pulled Niall’s tight boxers back over his bum, the small bump of the plug’s base visible where it sat between his arse cheeks.

They fell asleep, napping again, and woke an hour later with Niall’s bum pressed to Harry’s crotch.

Harry ducked his head forward and kissed behind Niall’s ear, chaste and sweet, before saying, “I’ll clean you up, love.” He went to the bathroom to get a damp flannel and returned a moment later. “Here, kitten,” he said, pulling Niall’s pants off and wiping him clean of cum. “Now let’s get ready for dinner,” he added, satisfied that Niall was clean.

“Harry?” asked Niall as he pulled off his sticky pants.

“Yes, love?”

“Can I- Do you want me to leave it in? The plug?” he asked, curious for the answer.

“I’d like it,” Harry said, timid and submissive in a way so very opposite his attitude only an hour before, “I’d like it if you did, please, Niall.” He looked at Niall with wide eyes, _asking_ rather than _telling_ now, the control shifting back to Niall now that they were no longer being overtly sexually intimate.

“O-okay,” said Niall, nodding as he pulled a clean pair of boxers on.

Harry smiled sweetly.

They got dressed, washing their faces and brushing their teeth. Harry put on one of his new shirts—a white short-sleeved button-down with a pattern of red and yellow motorcycles—and his new boots with the gold buckles.

“How do I look, Niall?” he asked, standing in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, modelling his new clothes, waiting for Niall’s approval. “Do I look nice?”

Niall walked toward Harry, purposeful and deliberate, feeling suddenly possessive; this boy was _his_ and he needed to show him how much he loved him and cared for him and _wanted_ him, how beautiful he was always, how he would protect and support Harry for as long as Harry would let him. He placed his hands on the boy’s hips and pulled the taller lad against his body.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” Niall whispered, tilting his head to kiss Harry’s jaw, sucking and nipping the tender flesh, down the length of his throat. He hoped it would leave marks, lovely purple-pink love bites, because he wanted everyone at the Spyglass & Kettle to know that Harry was _his_. “You’re mine, aren’t you, pet?” he asked, pulling back from Harry’s neck and looking at the boy pressed to his body.

“Yes, Niall,” said Harry softly, reassuring, voice hushed as he searched Niall’s eyes. “Yes. Always.”

“And I’m yours, love,” Niall told him. He kissed Harry on the lips, pure and honey-sweet, and added, “Let’s go get dinner, yeah?”

“Yes, please, Niall,” said Harry, a tiny smile on his lips. He stepped back from Niall and slipped a hand into one of the blonde’s.

They made their way from the guest house to the Spyglass & Kettle, Harry chattering about how excited he was to hire another beach hut the next day—“I can’t believe we were able to get the blue one! It’s got fluffy clouds painted on it and it’s just _too_ sweet!” he told Niall—and how wonderful the food festival had been and how much he was enjoying their first holiday together as a _proper_ couple.

They ate their meals—a burger and chips for Niall and a plate of fish and chips with mushy peas for Harry—and drank a few pints before heading back to their room, Niall’s arm wrapped around Harry’s waist as they walked down the lamplit streets to the Beach Lodge Guest House.

“Niall,” Harry whispered, lips plump and wet against the shell of Niall’s ear, “Niall. Wanna kiss your freckles.”

“Harry- _Fuck_ ,” exhaled Niall, distracted from his task of unlocking their room door when Harry began to nibble on his earlobe. “Fuck, Harry, let me get in the- let me open the door first.”

“Niall,” said Harry, taking a tiny step back from the blonde and pouting, “I just want to kiss you everywhere.”

“ _Fuck_ , Harry, yeah, I want you to- _Ah_!”—Niall managed to unlock the door and pushed it open, grabbing Harry’s wrist and dragging him into the room—“Come on, love.” He pulled the boy flush against his body and kicked the door closed.

“Ni-all,” singsonged Harry, lips brushing Niall’s as he spoke. “Ni-all, my little kitten! It’s time to _play_!” Niall shivered as Harry traced his long fingers down his sides, feather-light and tickling. He pressed his lips to the smaller boy’s, kissing him deeply, and dragged his hands from Niall’s hips to his bum.

With his left hand, Harry rubbed Niall’s right arse cheek, kneading the muscle through his skinny jeans. He laid his right hand over the centre of Niall’s bum and pushed, nudging the buttplug deeper into his hole, and the blonde moaned into Harry’s mouth.

Harry chuckled. “My little kitty likes to feel full, doesn’t he?” asked Harry, a rhetorical question really, though Niall nodded frantically. “Likes to have his tight little hole all loose and sloppy.”

“Yes,” whined Niall, high and wanton.

“Such a good little slutty boy,” praised Harry. “But only for me.”

“Yes, only- _Ooooh_ ”—Niall’s head dropped forward as Harry began to work the base of the plug in small circles—“only for you, Harry.”

“My perfect boy,” cooed Harry, lips moving to Niall’s ear. “Let’s take off these clothes, love. See you all naked and bare for me.” He stepped back, leaving Niall on trembling legs to undress himself.

“Oh, is kitty _hard_?” asked Harry, seeing Niall’s weepy erection, shiny with precum.

“ _Fuck_ , yeah, Haz,” breathed Niall, a hint of frustration in his tone. “Had a plug up me arse for the last three hours. O’ course I’m hard.”

“Are you ready to be fucked, my slutty little boy?”

“ _God_ , Harry,” groaned Niall. “Been ready to get—”

“Are you ready to be fucked?” asked Harry again, voice more stern this time.

“Yes,” answered Niall simply. “Yes, please.”

“Good boy,” said Harry. “So polite.” He stepped toward Niall, placing his hands on the boy’s hips and turning him to face the bed. “Arse up, face down.”

“Yes, Harry,” said Niall, scurrying onto the bed and moving into the position, standing on his hands and knees and then lowering his chest down until it was flat on the bed, his head turned to the side so his cheek was pressed to the mattress and hands stretched out in front of him.

“So beautiful, baby,” came Harry’s voice from behind him, genuine and honest. “The loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Niall blushed. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry moved forward, gently caressing the pale globes of Niall’s arse. “So beautiful.” He took the base of the plug in his fingers and tugged it—to the left and then to the right, up and down, left, right, moving it in circles—and earned a long, low moan from Niall. He grinned and then, without a hint of warning, pulled the plug from Niall’s slack hole, watching it slide past the loose rim easily.

“ _Ooohhh_ ,” groaned Harry, sounding awed. “Wish you could see, kitten. You’re so soft and just- You’re _gaping_ , baby.” He quickly found the lube and coated his fingers before thrusting three into his hole. “Can you even _feel_ this, kitten?”

Niall whined, eyes closed. “Yes, Harry. _Please_.”

“Yes, you’re ready for me, love,” agreed Harry, dragging his fingers from Niall’s arse. He climbed onto the bed behind Niall, shifting closer until the head of his cock was touching Niall’s stretched rim. He lined his thick cock up with Niall’s hole and pressed in, feeling no resistance.

“I’m going to fuck your sloppy hole _hard_ , kitten,” said Harry, voice dark and rich like tobacco and vanilla. He began a harsh pace, fast and near-brutal, skin slapping skin as he sank in deep and pulled out. “How’s that feel, baby? Do you need more than my thick cock?”

“ _Please_ , Harry,” begged Niall. “More.”

Harry added two fingers alongside his cock, fucking the boy. “Better, kitten?”

“Ye-es, so g-good, Harry,” choked Niall, the past three hours of arousal bringing him to the edge of his orgasm already. “Harry, can I- I’m going to _cum_.”

“Go on, love,” said Harry soothingly. “You’ve had a long- you’ve been so good.”

With a gasp, Niall came, moaning as Harry fucked into him a few more times before allowing his own orgasm to wash over him. After a few more shallow thrusts, Harry pulled out, watching his cum leak out of Niall’s abused hole. He leant down and licked it up, catching his own release on his tongue before swallowing it down.

“Mmm, roll over, kitten,” said Harry, voice sweet and sticky like warmed honey. He bent forward and helped the boy turn over, laying him on his back on the bed. “You’re so lovely, sweetheart,” he told the blonde, stretching his long body out beside his boyfriend. “So beautiful.” He reached out and stroked Niall’s cheek and jaw and lips, tracing his fingers over the planes and curves of his face.

“Wanna kiss your freckles,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to Niall’s neck, soft pecks against the tender flesh.

Niall hummed, content and a bit sleepy, and draped an arm around Harry’s neck, tipping his head to allow Harry more freckled skin to kiss.

“I love you, kitten,” Harry whispered, nosing at the ticklish flesh of Niall’s neck. “You’re so wonderful.”

“I love you too, Harry,” said Niall, a small smile on his lips as he dozed off to sleep.


	25. put the stars in our eyes

Niall woke up to the sound of knocking on his room door. He pushed himself up and saw Harry sprawled out on the bed beside him, looking as beautiful and peaceful in his sleep as he always did, and turned to look at the clock on the nightstand.

Who, he wondered, was knocking at his door at 7:23 in the morning?

There was another knock and then he heard his phone vibrate against the wood of the nightstand. He reached for it and found a text from Louis that read, “Come to the door.”

The _who_ answered, Niall got up from the bed, careful not to disturb Harry—he _really_ shouldn’t have let the boy have two pints at dinner, the lovely little lightweight—and went to answer the _why_.

He pulled on a pair of boxers and walked to the door, opening it to find both Louis and Liam on the other side.

“What are you”—he stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed behind himself—“What’s up?”

“We found it,” said Louis, as though that explained anything.

“Found- You found what?” asked Niall, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“We were just down at the beach and we started talking to these two blokes fishing, right,” said Louis, voice barely above a whisper, “and we asked them if they know of any old anchors in the waters off the shore.”

Niall’s eyes widened with understanding. “You found—”

“And they said there’s a rusted old anchor off the shore down at Sandbanks Peninsular in Poole,” finished Louis.

“They _also_ said that you can hire boats for the day, go out fishing and sailing round the harbour,” added Liam, giving Niall a small smile.

“I don’t- I don’t know how to drive a boat,” said Niall, looking at Liam and blinking.

“Well, I do,” said Liam.

Niall looked at the floor, hands rubbing over his face as he thought. He wanted to let Harry visit his old home, let Harry show him where he’d lived before they’d met—he’d brought Harry to Ireland to visit twice since the beginning of the new year and it was only fair, really—but he was worried that it would make Harry homesick again.

“I know what you’re thinking, you little shit,” hissed Louis, cutting through Niall’s thoughts. “Do you really believe for even half a second that Harry’s going to think, ‘Oh, yes, I’ll just leave me _true love_ and me bloody _perfect_ little life with him because I visited me old home, where I can never proper return, the day after our first anniversary’?”

Niall looked back to Louis and felt, for a few moments, ashamed of himself because Louis had indeed known what he’d been thinking. He took a deep breath and blinked, focusing on what he knew was the truth.

“No,” he said and Louis—even Liam—looked at him with a touch of skepticism. “I mean, yeah, I was thinking that,” he confessed, hot shame dripping off his head like scalding water. “But… no, you’re right, Lou. Harry’s not- Harry won’t _leave_ me. I know that.”

“Do you?” asked Louis gently.

“Yes. Yeah.” Niall nodded. “I do. You’re right.”

“We could make a trip over to Poole today,” said Liam. “Find this boat hire place.”

“We can’t go today,” Niall told him and Louis looked at him warningly. “We’ve got that beach hut,” he reminded his friends, hoping that excuse satisfied Louis, “and Harry’s so bloody excited about it.”

Liam chuckled. “Your little sweetheart of a boyfriend.”

“It’s the clouds,” said Niall, shrugging slightly and smiling a fond grin that did nothing to hide how adorable he found Harry’s little quirks.

“Tomorrow then,” said Louis with finality, pointing at Niall. “Meet us downstairs for breakfast in an hour?”

“Sure,” Niall agreed, turning to open the door to his room. “See ya in a bit.”

He slipped back into the room, finding Harry lying on his tummy with the sheets covering his bum and long legs, his large feet sticking out at the foot of the bed. Niall climbed onto the bed, moving across the mattress to straddle Harry’s thighs. He leant forward and pressed soft kisses to Harry’s shoulder and across his back, scattering kisses over his shoulder blades and down his spine.

“Niall?” said Harry, drowsy and slow.

“Mmm,” hummed Niall, kissing the base of Harry’s spine just above where the sheets laid. “Morning, pet.”

“Good morning, Niall,” said Harry. “My head feels fuzzy.”

“Poor baby,” Niall teased gently, retracing his route as he kissed back up Harry’s spine. “I’ll get you some paracetamol and water and you’ll feel good as new.”

“ _No_ , Niall,” said Harry, a little whine in his voice. “My head feels too heavy and fuzzy. I just want to sleep.”

“We’ll get dippy eggs,” said Niall against the soft skin of Harry’s back, an attempt to bribe Harry out of bed.

“ _Ni-all_ ,” whined Harry.

“ _Ha-rry_ ,” Niall mocked. “It’s time to get ready for breakfast with the lads. And then the beach! You’ll miss the beach hut if you stay in bed all day.”

Harry inhaled sharply. “The beach hut!” he said, suddenly alert. “Yes, I _forgot_ about the beach hut!”

Niall chuckled and got up to find a pack of paracetamol.

*******

Harry and Niall lay facing each other on the bed, sheets tangled between their legs, the only light in the room the morning sun filtering through the windows.

Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “We’re hiring a boat for the day?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Niall, voice soft and drowsy like the lazy summer morning. “Gonna sail round a bit.”

“Are we taking the picnic with us?”

Niall nodded, gliding a hand up the bare skin of Harry’s hip and waist and ribs and back down.

“I’ve never- I’ve never _been_ on a boat,” said Harry quietly.

Niall chuckled to himself, finding it a little ironic until he realised it really made perfect sense that Harry had never been on a boat before.

“We don’t have to go if you’re nervous,” Niall told him. “Liam and Louis found out about the boat hires and thought it might be fun.”

“I’ll go,” said Harry, smiling sweetly at Niall. “I bet it will be brilliant to have a picnic on the sea.”

“Bet it will,” Niall agreed.

They lay in bed awhile longer, Niall’s fingers tracing dreamy patterns on Harry’s skin while Harry lay with closed eyes and a peaceful smile on his lips. Niall finally got up and made tea, turning on the electric kettle and filling the little teapot with Earl Grey and pouring the hot water over the tea leaves.

Niall brought a cup to the bed and sat down next to Harry, placing it on the nightstand.

“Wake up, pet,” he said, leaning down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “I made tea.”

“Thank you, Niall,” said Harry sweetly, sitting up and resting against the headboard. He rubbed his eyes and reached to take the cup of tea from the nightstand. “This holiday was lovely.”

“Mmm. Sad it’s almost over?” asked Niall.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “But I’m glad we’re going home too. I miss our flat and the record player and our big windows and the girls.” He took a sip of tea and looked back at Niall. “These teacups are pretty but I miss our sunshine teapot.”

Niall’s heart swelled in his chest, elated; Harry was by the ocean, so close to the place that had been his home for over twenty-two years, but he was calling London—his flat with Niall—home.

“I’m still trying to figure out how I got so lucky to find you,” said Niall, near-reverence in his tone as he reached out to caress Harry’s face.

“It’s not luck, Niall,” Harry told him, nuzzling his face into Niall’s hand. “It was destiny, I think. We were made for each other. We fit.”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat at Harry’s words. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered, voice thick with emotions so strong that he felt them tingling in his fingers and toes. “We do fit.”

They drank their tea and took turns taking showers, getting dressed and packing a bag for their boat trip.

“Harry, pet,” asked Niall as they walked down the stairs to the breakfast room, “do you ever feel butterflies? Like, in your stomach?”

Harry looked at Niall, brows scrunched together as though confused, and the blonde thought for a moment that Harry had no idea what he was talking about until he said, “All of the time, Niall. When you wake me up in the morning and when you kiss my forehead and play with my hair and when you hold my hand and make me tea and tell me I’m beautiful and smile at me with your happy eyes and when you let me kiss your freckles. You always make butterflies flutter in my tummy.” He smiled the sweetest smile Niall had ever seen and slipped his hand into Niall’s.

“I love you, Harry,” said Niall, sincere and open, stopping just outside the door to the little dining room and pulling Harry a bit closer. He kissed his cheek, a light peck, and led him into the room and toward their friends.

After a nice breakfast—dippy eggs and soldiers for Harry, who was _still_ delighted by the mermaid egg cups—the four lads piled into Niall’s Jetta, packing the picnic lunch Faith had arranged for them into the boot, to make the forty-five minute drive to the boat hire in Poole.

“You excited for a boat tour, Haz?” asked Liam from the backseat.

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

Louis laughed. “Bit funny, isn’t it?” he asked. “You lived in the ocean nearly your whole life and you’ve never been on a boat. Liam’s from Wolverhampton and he knows how to drive powerboats.”

They arrived at the boat hire and Niall and Louis went to the check in—Niall wanted to make sure the bottle of Prosecco and bouquet of flowers Louis had requested when he’d called the day before to book a boat for hire and had asked for the “celebration package” he’d seen on their website were all set—and left Liam and Harry to unload the picnic hamper and beach bag from the car.  

A member of the staff gave a safety and operation briefing to the lads, making sure Liam felt comfortable driving the boat, and left them with lifejackets and maps of the harbour and surrounding area.

Niall decided to open the bottle of Prosecco after they’d eaten a bit of their picnic lunch, filling Harry’s champagne flute only half-full “to start” and kissing the boy to the sound of Liam and Louis’ cheers.

“ _Stay with me, I’ll stay with you_ ,” Harry sang in a whisper against Niall’s lips when they pulled away. “I love you, Niall.”

A bit later, Liam anchored again, this time a short distance from Sandbanks Beach.

Harry looked around, turning in a circle a few times, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings.

“Niall,” he said slowly as he looked over the starboard edge of the boat. “Niall, we’re- This is…” His voice trailed off uncertainly as he turned to look at his boyfriend and then to his friends, brows furrowed. “How did you- _Did_ you know?”

“Yeah, love,” said Niall, nodding. “We knew. We know. Liam and Louis asked some lads fishing at the beach if they knew- if they knew any old anchors off the shore.”

“Niall, this was- this was my _home_ ,” he said, sounding shocked and surprised. Niall wondered for a moment if Harry’s surprise was more at Niall’s willingness to bring him back to his old home and less at the discovery his friends had made; his unspoken question was answered seconds later when Harry said quietly, “You brought me to see my old home.”

“Yeah,” Niall agreed, not sure what else to say.

“Can I- can I swim for a bit?” asked Harry, a little hesitant.

Liam and Louis watched Niall, curious to see his response.

“O’ course, pet,” he said. “O’ course ya can.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. He stood up and pulled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the boat, turning to dip his feet into the water before sliding down and into the ocean.  

Niall rose from his seat and watched him swim away from the boat, heart beating fast in his chest, his throat thick with worry.

He wasn’t aware he was crying until Louis’ voice broke through his haze.

“Stop crying, love. He’ll come back, you know.”

Niall was silent for a few minutes, wiping the tears from his eyes. He nodded and turned back to the lads, dropping back to his seat beside Liam.

“Come on, Ni,” said Liam kindly, opening his arms to pull the blonde into a hug. “He’ll be back. He’s not leaving you.”

“I know,” Niall agreed, nodding against Liam’s shoulder before pulling away. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He’ll be back.”

“He will,” repeated Louis, offering a bottle of beer to Niall and smiling. “Now have a beer and just enjoy the view.”

Niall took the beer, watching the waves in the distance. Harry _would_ be back because he loved Niall and Niall loved him, because London— _Niall_ —was his home now, because he had friends above the waves.

Suddenly, tattooed arms appeared on the side of the boat and Harry’s head popped up, his long hair a wet mess around his face.

“Niall!” he called, excited. “Niall, I found her- she’s- Niall! She’s _here_!”

“What?” asked Niall, moving quickly from where he’d been sitting with his beer to the edge of the boat. “Harry, what?” He looked to the water, where Harry’s body was submerged from the waist down, his long legs kicking out behind him as he hung from the side of the boat. “Who’s here?”

“My _mum_ , Niall!” Harry shouted happily. “She’s coming!”

“Your mum’s”—Niall heard Liam and Louis moving around behind him—“your mum’s coming? Here?”

“ _Yes_!” said Harry. “I swam to the anchor and one of her friends said she was there and now she’s- she’s coming to meet you, Niall!”

Niall’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous to be meeting his boyfriend’s mother—especially considering he was sort of the reason she’d not seen her son in over a year—or to be meeting a mermaid who still had her _cohuleen druith_ and lived in the sea.

“Look,” said Louis quietly, pointing to the shadowy figure just under the surface of the water that was moving toward the boat.

“Don’t point, Louis,” admonished Liam, watching the shadow as it moved closer to them. “Isn’t polite, is it?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” asked Niall nervously, concern tugging at his heart.

Liam and Louis looked at Niall, disbelief clear on their faces—Niall’s concern, it seemed, was _far_ secondary to meeting a mermaid still in her original form.

“Oh, she’ll _love_ you, Niall,” said Harry from where he still hung off the side of the boat. “You’re too lovely and she’ll think you’re just wonderful and- _Mummy_!” he exclaimed when a woman who looked very like Harry, with long dark hair and a pretty face, popped out of the water a few feet from Harry. “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, _Mummy_!” he shouted, closing the small gap between them and wrapping his arms around the woman, his long legs treading water to keep himself afloat.

The woman— _Anne_ , Niall knew—hugged Harry tight, drawing him against her so tightly it made Niall’s heart clench in his chest; it was a simple display of affection but Niall knew it held more, knew it held her joy to see her son again and her sorrow and worry and fear from losing her son, from him going missing without an explanation, knew it held relief upon finding he was safe and happy.

Niall was so lost in thought that he didn’t realise Anne and Harry were talking, deep in a conversation about what had happened to Harry and where he’d been for the last year, until Louis nudged him with his elbow.

“And I met _Niall_ , Mummy. And he’s the love of my life,” said Harry, and Niall saw that _both_ mermaids were crying. “He’s so lovely and- and he takes care of me and tells me I’m beautiful and holds my hand.”

Anne looked toward Niall and smiled through her tears, gentle and kind, and said, “Thank you, Niall.”

“Thank you… for what?” asked Niall, a little confused.

“For taking Harry and protecting him,” she said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for him. He’s so happy. I can see it in his eyes”—she reached out and traced the smile creases at the corners of his eyes—“and it’s beautiful.”

“I- love him quite a lot,” Niall told her. “He’s the most- he’s the most special thing in my life.”

Harry beamed at Niall, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks, and Niall felt like he was floating on more than just the boat under his feet.

“I have friends now, too, Mummy,” added Harry. “Liam and Louis.” He gestured toward the other two boys on the boat. “They helped me learn about being on land. _And_ they taught me about friendship.”

“Aw, Hazza,” cooed Louis.

“Thank you all,” said Anne, looking at all three boys on the boat, a bittersweet smile quirking her lips. “You’re all lovely boys. Harry”—she turned to her son—“I’m so happy for you, baby. I’ve never seen you so _bright_ and peaceful. The thing I wanted most for you- I just wanted you to find somewhere you felt you belonged and that wasn’t- that was never _here_. You were so lonely but… you’re not lonely anymore.”

“No,” agreed Harry. “I miss you though.”

“I know, baby. And I miss you too,” said Anne. “But you’re so happy now.”

“We’ll come back,” said Niall. “We’ll come back to visit. More often. Maybe not- maybe not in the winter because it might be a little too cold for Harry to swim without his _cohuleen druith_. But we’ll come visit.”

Anne stayed a while longer, hanging off the boat next to Harry and eating bits of “human food” that Harry offered her—“It’s a bacon sarnie and they’re my _favourite_ sandwich,” Harry told her—until Liam said, sounding slightly apologetic, “Haz, mate, we’ve got to leave. Got to return the boat.”

“O-okay,” said Harry.

Liam, Louis, and Niall busied themselves with packing up their picnic hamper while Harry said his goodbye before saying their own farewells to Anne and watching her swim back toward the sunken anchor.

They lifted their own anchor and Liam steered the boat back to the harbour.

As they neared the pier after a quiet forty minute trip, Harry said, simple and sweet, from where he was tucked into Niall’s side, a large beach towel wrapped around his body, “Thank you.”

*******

“Niall,” Harry whispered against Niall’s throat, the glass and a half of wine he had at dinner staining his lips deep red and making him dizzy with alcohol and lust, “let me show you how much I love you, Niall. I love you _so_ much. Let me show you. _Please_.”

Niall moaned, head thrown back against the pillows, and said, “God, yes, pet. Show me how you love me.”

“I’m going to be so soft with you, my kitty,” said Harry, gentle and tender, and Niall knew that tonight would be slow and dreamy, like rose petals and moonlit walks; Harry was going to make love to him tonight, take care of him, tuck him away safely where only Harry could find him.

With whisper-light touches, Harry dragged Niall’s shirt over his head, the boy’s fair skin like porcelain in the pale moonlight that shone through the window of their room. “So beautiful,” he whispered, working Niall’s pants down his legs, and left the boy naked in front of him.

“Oh, kitten,” whispered Harry, nuzzling his face back against the column of Niall’s throat, lips leaving pillow-soft kisses along the flesh, “I love you.”

“I love _you_ , Harry,” breathed Niall, overwhelmed by the sensation of Harry’s large hands ghosting over his smaller body, tracing every curve, feathery and delicate.

Harry seemed determined to touch every inch of Niall’s body, hands flowing like water droplets over him from his hair and face down his neck, brushing over his shoulders and down his arms, fingers tangling with Niall’s when he reached his hands, before following their path back up to his chest. His lips followed, sealing Harry’s declaration of love with a hundred kisses.

Niall writhed under Harry’s gentle touches, too much yet not enough, and whimpered a refrain, like a lovestruck prayer—“Harry, Harry, oh my God, Harry. I love you. Love you so much. _Please_. Harry, please love me.”

“Oh, baby, I _do_ love you,” whispered Harry, fingers working slowly to open Niall up for him, pressing tiny kisses to his inner thighs and groin and hip bones. “I love you so much I don’t- I don’t think there’s words for it.”

“Harry,” moaned Niall, Harry’s words and his long fingers too much for him. “It’s- I’m- _Please_.”

“Yes, love. I’ve got you,” said Harry sweetly, easing three fingers in and out of Niall slowly. “Go on.”

“I’m”—Niall’s eyes were half-open, cloudy and dazed, the blue shockingly vibrant—“I’m so _soft_.”

“I know, kitten. It’s soft there, yeah?” whispered Harry, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Niall’s forehead. He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with the head of his cock, pressing so slowly into Niall’s receptive body. “I’ll take care of you, love. Be soft.”

Niall hummed to himself, an easy smile quirking his lips, and blinked slowly at Harry. “You’re like a dream,” he said quietly and heard Harry give a little moan. He lifted his hands to touch Harry, feeling his soft skin under his fingers, and tried to focus his dizzy thoughts on the way Harry’s muscles moved under his skin.

“So are you, love,” Harry told him, pumping in and out of the blonde, watching his hard cock split the boy open. “You’re perfect. Look at you.” He leant forward and lifted Niall’s legs to wrap around his waist, whispering, as though he hoped his words explained the subtle change of position, “I’m yours, kitten. Forever.”

“ _Harry_ ,” whined Niall, and Harry noticed Niall’s own erection, heavy against his tummy and drooling a puddle of precum.

Harry moved a hand to Niall’s cock, thumbing over the slick head and jerking him slowly, pacing his hand to the rhythm of his hips.

“Prettiest little _everything_ ,” said Harry, leaning forward to kiss Niall’s lips, capturing his pants and broken whimpers as the boy approached his orgasm. Harry moved his hand, cupping Niall’s cock and pressing it against his stomach, the boy’s leaky bubblegum pink erection grinding against Harry’s abs with each of the brunette’s thrusts.

“Har- _Harry_!” cried Niall finally, orgasm crashing over him as he came hard, cum coating Harry’s stomach and hand. Harry kissed him deeper, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Up, love,” said Harry, voice sweet like honey, as he moved his arms to cradle Niall’s back. He lifted Niall up easily, the blonde boneless and limp in his grasp, and sat back against the headboard with Niall in his lap. Niall’s body sagged against Harry’s chest, head lolled forward against Harry’s shoulder lazily.

“I love you, my precious kitten,” Harry whispered in the boy’s ear, hips rocking into Niall’s oversensitive body. “Love you so much. You’re so perfect and lovely.”

Niall mewled and whimpered, slick still leaking from the head of his cock against Harry’s stomach, and Harry said, voice pitched low, “Cum again, kitten. Cum for me again, I know you can. You’re such a”—his words hitched in his throat, feeling his own release approaching—“such a good boy for me. Cum with me, love. Can you cum again?” He bit his lip, trying to delay his orgasm.

“I don’t- Oh, I don’t _know_ ,” breathed Niall, desperate.

Harry grasped the boy’s hips, lifting him up and dropping him down onto his cock a few times.

“Ha- _rry_!” A few drops of cum settled on Harry’s stomach just as the brunette released, cum filling Niall’s hole.

“Oh, baby, baby, Niall,” babbled Harry. “Kitten, I love you. Oh, love.”

They panted together—breath and heartbeats slowly returning to a slower, steadier pace—and then Harry said, love lacing his every word, “You’re the most perfect thing in my life, kitten.” He kissed the blonde’s temple. “I’m going to run a bath for us, love. Get us all clean and then I’ll tuck you away until the morning.”

Niall nodded against Harry’s shoulder.

A half an hour later, the two boys lay on the bed, naked and freshly bathed with fingers intertwined and Niall’s damp hair on Harry’s chest.

“It’ll be nice,” said Harry, dreamy and even slower than usual, “to be back in our own bed tomorrow night.”


	26. fairytale

Harry walked into his flat, Liam and Louis behind him, and found Niall in the kitchen, a pot of tomato sauce on the stove and a tossed salad in a bowl on the counter.

“Hey,” said Niall, watching the three lads come into the flat. “Hi, love,” he added, tilting his head to accept the kiss Harry placed on the blonde’s cheek. “Have a good day?” he asked, returning to the sauce.

“Yes,” said Harry. “I have- I’ve got something to show you.”

Niall stepped away from the stove and moved closer to Harry, noticing that Liam and Louis were standing back a bit, almost like they didn’t want to intrude on whatever was about to happen.

“What- what is it, love?” asked Niall, uncertain.

“It’s a- I’ve got a new tattoo,” answered Harry, a shy little smile on his lips, and Niall saw the bandage that covered a small area of Harry’s arm just above his pirate ship tattoo. Harry reached up to peel it back, revealing three words in small black script.  _ Can I stay? _

“Oh, Harry,” said Niall, feeling tears prickling his eyes and his lips quivering, “you silly, silly boy. O’ course ya can. Forever. My life wouldn’t- It wouldn’t be the same without you. Don’t- please don’t leave me.”

“I wouldn’t,” breathed Harry, stepping toward his boy. “I couldn’t.” He pressed his forehead to Niall’s, hands finding Niall’s where they hung by his thighs, and tangled their fingers together. Eyes closed, he tipped his head forward and placed a gentle kiss to Niall’s lips, soft and feathery, the whisper of a kiss. “I love you too much, Niall.”

They heard cheering from behind them and then Louis’ voice stated, “If that’s not a fairytale, I don’t bloody know what is.”

Niall left his forehead against Harry’s for a few more moments, eyes closed and fingers still laced with his boyfriend’s, thinking how  _ right _ Louis was because, yeah, his life  _ was _ a fairytale.

“You staying for dinner, then?” he asked, smile bright and beautiful as he hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder and looked at his friends.

“If you’ve got enough,” said Louis, shrugging, a smile on his own face.

“Yeah, reckon we do,” said Niall. 

“It smells delicious,” said Liam. “Spaghetti and meatballs?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Spaghetti and meatballs is the most romantic dinner,” said Harry, pecking Niall on the cheek and walking to the stove to dump the box of spaghetti into the pot of boiling water.

“Why is spaghetti and meatballs the most romantic dinner?” asked Louis, curious.

“Because it’s what Lady and Tramp ate,” answered Harry. “And it’s the first dinner I ever cooked for Niall.”

Niall stepped behind Harry and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling the boy back against his front, and kissed just behind his ear. “You can be Lady. I get to be Tramp.”

Harry smiled, remembering the first time he’d cooked spaghetti and meatballs for Niall; he’d told Niall he got to be Lady.

“That seems fitting,” he said, repeating Niall’s words from all that time ago.

“God, you two are disgusting,” teased Louis from where he stood pulling plates from the cabinet.

“I think they’re sweet,” said Liam, smiling at Harry and Niall.

Louis shrugged. “Same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://littlemissmeggie.tumblr.com/)! i'm quite friendly and i love to talk! 
> 
> and please leave me a comment! this is my first chaptered fic and i'm very proud of it.


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